


Traitors' Sons

by Raven_Knight



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Mirror Universe
Genre: Alternate-Mirror Universe, Character Death, Cultural Misunderstandings, F/M, Forced Marriage/Bonding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Mind-Melds, Rape trauma, Sexual Assault, Tarsus IV, Telepathy, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 165,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Knight/pseuds/Raven_Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Terran Empire responds to a planetary distress signal from Vulcan.  Their goal is not to aid, but to enslave the survivors.  Captain Pike’s capture leaves his young first officer, James T. Kirk, in command of the ISS Enterprise.  As the surviving Vulcans are subdued, one of them catches Kirk’s interest.  In that moment, everything changes, and the destiny of the Empire is forever altered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story does not ever cross out of the Mirror!Universe - we're here for the duration. Which is why I refuse to label every character and every pairing as Mirror![insert character]. We're staying there. 
> 
> Also, along with the territory of the Mirror!Universe, you can expect our characters to be rougher, crueler, and more violent than their non-Mirror counterparts. This story will contain rape, violence, abuse, drug use/administering, and character death. The warnings will be displayed as the updates continue, so consider this a pre-warning.
> 
> This is going to be a very long journey. I hope I can surprise some of you along the way! And a very special thank you goes out to my wonderful beta-reader, Laustic, who prevents me from sounding like an idiot, and to LadyShiroshika, who keeps me wanting to write! Thank you both; you are the best! ~ RK

It was the last group they could manage to capture from the surface of the collapsing planet with their transporter before they would have to leave the area if they wanted to live. Standing directly in front of the platform was the only person to beat the infamous Kobayashi Maru test. In the middle of his commendation ceremony this planetary distress signal came from Vulcan. He was already ranked and stationed aboard the ISS Enterprise, but it would have been just a little more preferable if he could come onto this mission with his new recognized award for brutal tactical strategy and resourcefulness right there displayed on his chest below his rank insignia rather than nothing. The intimidation level would have been impressive. However, he was still the first officer, and it would have to do for now. At least, he was the first officer until Captain Pike decided it would be interesting to see how he handled himself in commanding a situation like this one in his absence. So what did Pike do? He used himself as bait for the hugely advanced Romulan ship so that Kirk could order the capture-disguised-as-rescue of the Vulcans. Pike was confident that if Kirk could manage to subdue the Vulcan race in one fell swoop, then a starship, once he was given command, would never be a challenge. And that was how he found himself in the transporter room. 

The newly promoted young officer, the acting captain, James T. Kirk, waited for the appearance of this last group. Tactical had spotted this group fleeing down a mountainside. What were they doing there? They were all older based on their readings, except for two. Two. Were they the oldest in the Vulcan society? Odd that they would not have been shoved off the planet first by the respectful-of-all-elders younger Vulcans before this. Not very logical. 

"I'm losing one!" came the shout of the young but brilliant Chekov, whose fingers were flying over the transporter console. 

"Get most of them," ordered Kirk. "Ignore the one you're losing. Get the others. Phasers stand by for stun. And Chekov, tell the helm to get us out of here as soon as you finish transporting."

"Aye, keptin." Everyone but Chekov - who was still working the transport controls - held their phasers ready, including Kirk. There was one member of the medical staff standing in the transporter room, ready with a large hypo to administer to all that were about to materialize aboard the ship. 

"Transport almost complete," announced Chekov. 

There were shimmering figures that began to take shape on the transporter pad. Seven seemed to be arriving. Kirk took a quick glance at those he'd ordered to carry arms. They had plenty. Even against full-strength Vulcans. Besides, they would most likely be disoriented from the sudden beaming. It's not like they were expecting it. 

Six of the figures on the pad were appearing as they normally would, standing straight and composed. It was the last, the seventh, that was in an unusual stance. An arm was extended forward and the body leaned. 

"Take aim on one of them each. But not too soon. Let them realize they've been captured." This Kirk said with a sneer. He heard an answering collection of quiet chuckles. 

The Vulcans materialized. The new captain swept his gaze quickly over all of them. They all looked openly confused. He'd seen several of them this way now. Unexpected beaming would do that to anyone. There was one older Vulcan, though certainly not the oldest of them on the pad that was not taking in his surroundings like the others. Instead his gaze was riveted onto the youngest present Vulcan. It was that young Vulcan who was standing abnormally from the rest, his arm outstretched to something unseen or unknown. But that alone was simply odd. What Kirk noticed was that this younger Vulcan looked devastated. His lips were just barely parted in shock, and his eyes were wide in horror.

Those eyes met the cold blue eyes of James Kirk, then closed a moment later as a phaser blast set to stun collided with his body from the weapon of the very man at whom he was staring. 

The other Vulcans fell to the deck after having been stunned by the other armed men gathered around Kirk. Immediately afterward, the lone member of that medical staff went from one Vulcan to the next, injecting them with a hypo, just like he'd done with all of the others beamed aboard. Once he passed one Vulcan, one of the men who'd phasered their new captives came forward with restraints which he secured to the wrists and ankles of the unconscious Vulcan. This process on all seven captives was accomplished quickly and efficiently. They all knew that if it were not, their punishment would be severe. Even without Captain Pike in command, they were just as terrified of his adopted son, their now acting captain. 

"The same place with these, captain?" asked a security member for clarification. 

Kirk nodded, his phaser still raised but now set to kill rather than stun. He wasn't about to take the chance of being caught off guard. 

The Vulcans were not even hauled up. It took too much energy. The humans gripped them by their joined wrists and dragged them from the transporter room. They would soon enough be placed in several locations - whether it be the brig, or somewhere in one of the sickbays. Before his departure to the rogue Romulan vessel, Captain Pike had alluded to a different use for their future captives, but no one knew whether or not Kirk was going to continue the idea. One by one the unconscious Vulcans were dragged from the transporter room. 

When a security officer went to reach for the youngest of them, Kirk snapped a single command. "Leave that one." He noticed that the doctor was now eyeing him with interest. "I'll question that one myself." He went forward, the authority in his gait enough to induce a retreat from the security member. 

"Give me the hypo." The man in the blue shirt tilted his head knowingly. 

"Want him subdued?" 

"No. I like them to have a little fight in them." He was silent for only a moment, knowing that he was alone with the unconscious younger Vulcan and his best friend. Chekov and the security guard he'd ordered to leave the Vulcan alone had left almost as soon as he'd spoken. 

"My father told me that his plan was that we all claim a Vulcan for ourselves. Force them into a marriage. I think they call it a bond. Basically, they'll have to be loyal to you until they die. Kind of makes an ideal body guard don't you think?" 

The other man grimaced. "I don't know, Jim. Seems a little too high a price for me to pay for a body guard."

The acting captain nodded. "Listen. I need you safe. Any other doctor would be assassinating his captain. You're the only doctor I can trust. And you know I take care of you."

The doctor nodded. 

"So I need you to pick one of them. I don't want to make it an order."

His friend looked down at the dirt-smudged face of the Vulcan at their feet. "You want that one then. Thought you would have gone for one a little more...curvy."

Kirk allowed a small one-sided grin as he stared at the unknowing alien. "Did you see how vulnerable he was? He'll be easy to tame. I have to fight to keep a whole crew afraid of me, I'll take a Vulcan that's easy to break. One less thing to worry about." He looked at his friend. "But just in case he's stronger than he seems, I need that hypo." 

With a sigh, Doctor McCoy put it in Kirk's waiting hand. 

Kirk stooped low enough to grab the slender Vulcan and bear his weight across his shoulders, holding onto the body firmly. He took one step towards the door when McCoy's voice stopped him. "Going to take him now?" 

"Might as well be sure he stays mine, right? I don't want anyone else to steal him." Then, he headed to the door again. "We'll be at warp going after the Romulan."

"And your father."

Kirk nodded. "But no one needs to know that, do they? We're going to get rid of a powerful threat to our Empire." He stopped once more as the doors hissed open quietly. "By the way, you might want to take your pick fast. Once I tell the highest ranking officers about this idea - so long as mine works first - it'll be a mad rush for the best of them. Let me know who you decide, but don't wait too long."

"Jim," McCoy said, unsure if he should even ask, but throwing his caution away. "What if any of them are already bonded?"

"Then, they're a threat. Kill one them, and force the other one to bond. I don't care which one dies." 

McCoy stepped forward. "And if he's bonded?" He jerked his head to the Vulcan Kirk was carrying. 

"Then, he won't be for long. This one's mine."

"Why are you so determined to have him?" Now, McCoy was suspicious. 

Kirk was silent for a moment as though the question caught him off guard. When he answered, the response surprised McCoy. "I don't know." Then, Kirk left the transporter room, leaving behind a concerned and suspicious Doctor McCoy, wondering how he was supposed to start a search for a body guard he could tolerate marrying.


	2. Welcome Aboard

Kirk stared at the list of crewmembers that were either disgustingly skilled at their posts, combat, or a mixture of both. His father never quite maximized the potential of the rotations, which was something he was determined to accomplish. Granted, before being promoted from first officer to captain with Pike's departure, Kirk found himself in need of a new tactical officer. It had been his posting along with first officer. He then realized that he would need to wisely choose a first officer for himself. Maybe his father did that deliberately.

First, he had to start with friends. A little nepotism and favoritism sometimes went a long way to keep yourself and your position secure. No harm in having trusted people on your side. He scrolled down the extensive list, looking for the names of certain individuals. When he found one, he keyed in their new duties and possibly even new ranks.

His console beeped near his elbow. He hit it with probably a little more force than necessary as he answered. "This is the captain."

"Chekov, sir. I have discovered the likely course that this Nero is traveling."

"Where?" Kirk demanded.

"Terra."

Earth. So, this Romulan thought he could take out the Terran Empire? "Follow them, Chekov. Make sure we aren't detected in our pursuit." He was about to disconnect when he figured he might as well give the kid a small reward. "You have new orders coming through for your performance today. Expect them when I come to the bridge."

A soft sound came from the direction of Kirk's darkened sleeping alcove. He couldn't help the small smile.

"Aye, keptin."

Kirk punched the disconnect button as he stood from the chair and prowled slowly towards his captive. The young Vulcan. "Lights at forty percent."

Kirk came to stand at the foot of his bed as the computer dimmed the lights in his cabin. Business handled, he gazed down at the captive. He didn't dare release him from his wrist and ankle bindings, just in case he managed to recover his strength. He did, however, keep them placed at the Vulcan's stomach. Even like this, bound and just starting to awaken, Kirk knew this Vulcan was beautiful. He'd be even more so writhing underneath him. With that image in his head, Kirk climbed onto the bed, not touching the Vulcan yet, but perched above him supported by his hands and knees. There Kirk hovered, looking down at him like a hawk looks at a cornered mouse.

His captive had unusually long eyelashes that were just beginning to flutter against his smooth, buttercream-yellow, innocent face. Another soft moan as he began to closer approach consciousness made a certain part of the new captain swell to hardness. If all went well, he'd be making this Vulcan moan very soon.

Then, the eyes below him opened and once again stared directly into Kirk's. The body below him tensed.

"Welcome aboard my ship," Kirk whispered.

The dark eyes gazed up at him stoically, as though the captive was studying the predator. "I was unaware that it is considered polite to welcome guests by shooting them. It is an unusual approach."

"I never said you were my guest."

Kirk still perched above the Vulcan. The body shifted beneath him and Kirk knew that he was testing the bindings on his wrists, but he didn't stop him. "My bindings imply that you wish to question me."

Kirk just barely smiled, but it was a confident one not a pleased smile. "Among other things." The Vulcan stared at him, drawing his bound hands up to come to his chest. The image struck his captor as vulnerable and nervous. He liked it. Kirk took the opportunity to lower his body onto the deceptively slender form below him, and never breaking eye contact with the Vulcan, who tensed further beneath him with a nervous swallow.

Kirk's hand darted up to grab the short black hair and tugged, pulling back the head of his victim. He was disappointed that the only reaction he received was a simple exhalation. But he was not to be discouraged. He leaned forward and ran his tongue along the smooth skin of the exposed neck, feeling the life pulse in the Vulcan's veins. He let his open mouth rest on the skin and breathed, watching for a reaction from the Vulcan to the new heat against the trail of moisture at his throat.

There it was, a soft and choked sigh.

With a wicked smile to himself Kirk slid his body up the Vulcan's just enough to get his lips even with the pointed ear. "Interrogation can wait," he whispered into it. An instant later he took the lobe between his teeth.

The Vulcan's reaction was instantaneous.

 

 

Doctor McCoy was having a much different experience. Jim might be his new captain, but in no way did it make sense to have that kid put him in charge of keeping every single captured Vulcan subdued on this ship! There were hundreds of them! This was going to be a Herculean task. He took another hefty swig of Saurian Brandy with one hand as he tapped the blade of his dagger on his desk with his other hand.

He was the only person in the medical staff permitted to be constantly armed. Pike thought there were already enough weapons available in Sickbay. But, he made a certain allowance of protection and self-defense for McCoy because he had to give the man who treated his injuries an incentive for not killing him on the table. Also, McCoy was his adopted son's best friend. That had to count for something. McCoy wasn't stupid. He knew that he was treated well because they needed someone on their side. And with his knowledge of xenobiology, was it a wonder that Pike found him unfortunately - or fortunately from the doctor's point of view - irreplaceable?

He had never been one for forgiveness or mercy, especially to those for whom he did not care. There were actually few people about whom he did care. The first was his father, the reason why McCoy became a doctor in the first place. His father had been in business with several questionable types when Leonard McCoy was a teenager. And one day, when his father had tried to outsmart one of his customers the whole situation backfired and snowballed. It had ended with Leonard seeing his father murdered across the street, seeing the murderer's face, and then learning all that he could about the man from appearance to family members. When he found him, again it had been several years later. He managed to track him to a restaurant one night. And he waited, and waited for him to leave. He left with a woman from the restaurant, and Leonard had killed them both with poison. A quick hypo to their necks. He watched them slowly sink to the ground, looking at him in confusion as he informed the man the reason why they were dying. It was only afterwards when he dragged them home to remove any traces of the hypo and the poison before leaving their corpses elsewhere that he discovered that the woman had been pregnant.

The second person he'd ever cared for was his daughter. McCoy's life had gone relatively back to normal until just before his little girl was supposed to turn four years old. He'd come home from a good day in the hospital. He'd saved more patients than killed for a change that day. But then, he'd gone into his daughter's room and found her dead. The frozen expression on her little face was one he'd seen before. It was the same confusion on his daughter's face as that of the man he'd watched die for killing his father. He'd closed his little girl's eyes and began to manipulate her body into a position that looked like she was only sleeping. Though, as he'd pulled the covers up to her little chin, he noticed something else. There were marks on her throat.

Someone had strangled his daughter to death.

Rage had consumed him. It did not take him long to find his wife, which was relaxing in luxuriously bubbly bath water, her arms draped over the sides, a smile on her face. It was only an instant after Leonard saw her that her hands were trying to pry his away from her throat as he used all of his weight to keep her under the bubbles. He didn't want to see her face. It was enough when she stopped thrashing and the hands that killed his precious daughter went slack from his wrists.

Only three days later, while on the run across the country, did he get involved in a bar fight, only to find a young man, who was no more than twenty-two, come to his defense and practically annihilate most of his opponents. That night he slept on the couch in the young man's hotel room. The next day, he was introduced to the kid's father, Captain Pike. By the end of the week, he was on a shuttle sharing his small flask of whiskey with the younger man with whom he'd now become friends. James T. Kirk.

He took another long swig from the orange bottle. If he could kill his wife without a second thought, then showing no mercy to a whole Sickbay and Brig full of Vulcan captives would not hurt his limited morality too much. This should be easy. With one last swig he grabbed his dagger, attached it to his utility belt next to his agonizer and left his office. He only trusted Christine Chapel with so much in there until that other promising younger doctor, M'Bingo or whatever figured out how to make the hypo injections into gaseous form so that they could just gas the Vulcans with the muscle relaxant and neuromuscular inhibitor cocktail all at once. It would make them much easier to control, not to mention take much less time to administer. But right now, it was a hypo and one Vulcan captive at a time.

 

 

Kirk smiled to himself as continued to tease the earlobe, his eyes open and watching the Vulcan as he shifted beneath him. He tightened his grip on the black hair in his fist and held the head as still as possible. His captive raised his hips quickly in a clear attempt to buck Kirk off. Kirk's smile grew when the Vulcan moaned after he pressed his swollen groin against him to pin him down better. "You a virgin, little Vulcan?" The Vulcan went still.

He raised himself up to look down upon the Vulcan, whose lips were slightly parted from his now quieted gasps. As though aware of the vulnerability, those lips closed into a stoic line, in a stubborn refusal to answer. Kirk decided to test him. He slowly began to undulate his hips into the Vulcan, knowing that he would respond soon enough. He did not need to wait long.

The face below him crumbled when he lost the battle with himself and, despite the firm set mouth, the Vulcan could not contain the sound that came from his throat. It was a mix between a sob of humiliation and a moan of ecstasy.

"I'll take that as a yes," growled Kirk. As the Vulcan moaned again, Kirk drove forward and silenced him with his mouth. It was the last thing Kirk felt.

He did not notice his captive's bound hands slip to the base of his neck, nor fully realize that he'd put pressure there before he slumped on top of the Vulcan unconscious.

 

 

McCoy hadn't been around Vulcans much in his life, but even with his limited experience with them, he was starting to dislike them strongly. They thought they were so smart with their logical thinking. When he started injecting the inhibitor-relaxant into the first batch of Vulcans he did so with a sort of apathy. He didn't care if any of them were in pain or what any of their names were. It wasn't important. Unless he was doing what Kirk asked and he was screening for a potential body-guard/wife did he care what they looked like, which he doubted he'd be able to find with the terrible selection available. However, after a ridiculous number of them asking why they were bound, why they were being treated as prisoners, what the logic was in keeping them captives, McCoy had had enough. He ended up practically punching them with the hypo.

However, finally, there was one Vulcan that he approached that managed to catch his ear. It was because he asked a question he did not hear before.

"Where is my son?"

Under no circumstances would McCoy have found this person attractive. Hideous, no, but certainly not attractive. He looked worn, but then all of these captives did, and more tired than anything else. And he looked at him in a way that was different to the other Vulcans. He looked at him not in confusion, but with sadness and resignation.

"I don't know who your son is," he replied as he injected this Vulcan with the compound. For some reason, he had not jammed it into this Vulcan's neck. He turned away from him and began to move on to the next one.

"Please," came the voice in a sigh. When McCoy turned back to him, he was looking at him with more emotion than he would have expected from a Vulcan. "Please, tell me what has happened to my son."

McCoy took a step back towards the Vulcan. "I don't know who he is," he said in a harsher tone.

"He was with me when you transported us to this ship. He was the youngest of us that came from the Katric Arc."

McCoy made a face. "The what?"

The Vulcan before him shook his head. "It is not relevant. I believe I was among the last you had taken aboard, but I do not know for certain."

McCoy stared at this Vulcan and suddenly had a terrible suspicion. If this Vulcan was among the last group...There had only been one Vulcan that looked younger than the rest.

And he was with the new captain.

How did he tell this older Vulcan before him that his son was probably being ravished by the ship's captain?

He couldn't. Instead, he stared at the Vulcan for a moment, turned and walked away. Let him think the worst had happened to his son.

It wasn't until he'd administered the hypo compound to twenty other Vulcans that McCoy realized what a perfect opportunity this father had unwittingly given him. He viciously jammed the hypo into the next Vulcan's neck, smiling at the wince.

 

 

He waited for a moment to see if he was truly successful before he used what little strength his drugged state left him to push the deadweight of the captain's body off of his own. He took in his surroundings quickly. He needed to free himself.

He caught sight of a phaser on the desk. Realizing that he would be unable to walk properly with his ankles bound as they were, he would either be forced to hop or crawl. With a struggle he managed to ease himself down to the deck. Then, using his arms muscles to pull his body across the floor and his legs to help push himself forward, he soon reached the desk.

His sense of balance proved immensely beneficial to him as he managed to raise himself just high enough to grab the phaser from the desk. He studied it for only a moment before he determined which setting would best work for his situation. He aimed the weapon at the small piece in the bindings that connected his ankles and fired. In seconds, the bridging restraint was melted away. With his legs separated for much easier movement, he rose to his feet, unsteadily at first.

He quickly realized that he'd been given some sort of drug to dampen his motor skills. This was mildly distressing, but not unmanageable. Once he was accustomed to how much strength he actually had at his disposal, he looked at the human that had underestimated him. He knew that this captain was not the type to make the same mistake twice. He could not be caught by him again.

The Vulcan approached the bed on which he'd left the captain sprawled. He adjusted the setting on the phaser and raised it to aim. Then, he realized that were he to kill this man, he would never have a chance of assisting any other captives aboard. He would be killed on sight. He lowered the weapon. As he did so, he caught sight of a small hypo. He did not think it was poison. The captain would not have it so close to his bed if it were. It must be the drug that he'd been given. It restricted motor skills. It would have to be enough.

He set down the phaser beside the hypo and picked up the hypo. He did not dare sit down because he feared that he would not have the available strength to rise again once at rest. No, he remained standing as he pressed the hypo to the human's neck and injected him with its contents. The human twitched, but otherwise gave no indication of waking.

The Vulcan picked up the phaser again and walked directly to the door of the cabin, hoping it would lead to a hallway. It did. He checked for any crewmembers before he fully left the cabin. It was oddly quiet and empty in the hallways of this ship.

It was the kind of confidence that came with unexpected good luck that made him unaware of a pursuer until he was about three quarters of the way down the hallway. The realization came when a phaser was pressed against the back of his skull and he heard a male order him to, "Drop your weapon or you're dead, Vulcan."


	3. A Logical Proposal

“Information, Empress, of our arrival at Vulcan.”

Slowly, she turned to face her most trusted aide from in front of the tubes of the preserved First Captives. It was her favorite place of reflection…and torture. 

Even after all this time in power, she managed to retain the beauty of her youth. It was rumored that she had been cloned, each subsequent version kept in stasis until the active version grew too old. This was untrue. Her excellent medical staff maintained her health – both of body and mind – and her beauty since she proclaimed herself Empress shortly after Jonathan Archer’s death. She maintained her youthful, strong, and ruthless visage and attitude. And she remembered everything. 

She accepted the padd from her assistant and personal bodyguard. “Was the Romulan vessel captured?”

“No, Empress. It remains unclaimed since its departure from the Klingons.”

Her lips thinned as she consulted the information before her. “All but one of our ships was destroyed?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she was keying in commands to show her specific information. 

“But half of your fleet still waits for your command in the Laurentian System.” 

She shook her head. “And there they’ll stay. They know I kept them in Laurentia because the rest are being weeded out. That’s what happens when too many captains get it into their heads that they can do what they wish in my fleet. If they obey, they are spared. If they don’t…” Her voice trailed off as she found the information she sought. Her expression did not hide her displeasure. “The Enterprise survived. Of course it was the Enterprise.”

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she threw the padd back to her assistant. “With the Romulan vessel still abroad, there is still a high possibility that your goal in sending them to Vulcan may yet be achieved.”

She turned again to regard the mutilated bodies preserved in the tubes. There was comfort to be found in these specimens. “At least he managed to capture a large number of those creatures for us.” 

He nodded. “That is true. If I may, you shouldn’t dismiss him so quickly, Empress. He may yet be useful to you. When he returns with all of them, you will be able to carry out the plan that you had discussed with Captain Pike before he left.”

“Before he gave his ship to that traitor’s bastard.”

He sighed. “I know you dislike the boy, but he does not yet have reason to be disloyal to you or the Empire. So long as he never knows the truth behind his family’s death, he is yours. To command…to his death if necessary. But that is a move I would delay until the time is the most opportune.”

She sighed. The lifeless – and yet still lifelike – eyes in the preservation tank met hers, and she reached up to press her hand against the glass. “Where is the Romulan ship now?”

There were several beeps before the answer came. “Heading here.”

“And with only that bastard alive out there.”

“Yes, Empress.”

“If he’s as loyal to me as you suspect, then I’m sure he will come after them.”

“He also has the motivation to pursue because your Captain Pike was taken captive by the Romulans. He is sure to at least attempt to rescue his adopted father.”

Empress Sato snorted to herself. “As weak as his real father, then. Led by that tender affection for the lives of others. Let that little menace think he’s the Empire’s hero. And when he stands before me for a commendation, a promotion, or whatever he thinks he’ll receive—” She smiled at the corpse of the preserved alien. It was preserved so well that the slanted eyebrows and pointed ears were unmistakable. “—I’ll expose him and his weakness before the entire Empire. And he will be known as his father was before him.” 

“As you wish, Empress.”

“Perhaps I’ll even invite his mother to see her son’s disgrace.”

 

 

Chekov had always known James T. Kirk as a reliable person, as someone to depend upon to do whatever he’d promised. From the time he was only six years old and among the four other children that Kirk had managed to save from execution on Tarsus IV, Pavel Chekov was never convinced to doubt Kirk. Which was why he was concerned when, after speaking with him very recently, the new captain did not come to the bridge or send along the new commands for the now vacant positions aboard the ship. He knew that anyone desiring a place among the vacant positions would not dare attempt to take them by force. Not on this ship.

Captain Christopher Pike had been secure in his center seat mainly due to his adopted son. Kirk, while anxious for his own command, never once made the attempt to usurp his father. In fact, he’d never even hinted at it. And should he have ever heard rumor or talk of an ambitious officer having plans to clear the captaincy for their own, Chekov noticed that they were very quickly eliminated. And he knew that it was due to Kirk employing the very same tortures that had been inflicted on himself while on Tarsus IV. Except where Kodos let up and controlled through the promise of a repeat performance, Kirk finished the task then left the corpse somewhere very public as a warning to anyone else with designs against Pike’s life. 

And so the crew of the bridge waited for one thing: new assignments and promotions. The question was whether Kirk would decide to announce them privately to each individual promoted, or arrive on the bridge to announce it publicly like he would his executions. But very few among this crew knew Kirk like Chekov did. And this delay was too long…

Something had gone wrong. 

And just as Kirk had kept him alive on Tarsus IV, Chekov had made it his personal mission to ensure Kirk’s life continued.

With an experienced authority that contradicted his inexperienced age, Chekov snapped at the Winston Kyle, from whom he’d taken control of the transporter. “Resume your post. I vill return for it.” He did not realize how prophetic his claim was at the time. 

Everyone knew where the captain’s quarters were on the ship. Getting into them was the trouble. Pike usually kept his most trusted bodyguards posted near him constantly, with the exception of on the bridge. They remained by the turbolift, but near his quarters there were two checkpoints. One on each end of the corridor and another pair at the door to his quarters. It was no coincidence that the first officer’s and chief medical officer’s quarters shared this corridor. Some thought this extra insurance was somewhat paranoid. Kirk had once called it cautious. Chekov tended to agree. However, there were only four people admitted in this corridor without question. Pike, Kirk, McCoy, and Chekov. Not even bedmates were permitted without clearance. 

And so it was with extreme surprise that Chekov found the corridor completely empty of security. This raised his alarm immediately. He drew his phaser in one hand and his agonizer in the other as he continued down the corridor. He doubted that Kirk had enough time to begin transferring his effects into the captain’s quarters – there had been little time for anything since their rapid departure. And so he went to the first officer’s quarters. Kirk had given Chekov clearance for them, and so it was with very little effort that he gained entry. 

The room was dimly lit. The comm device was off. But something caught Chekov’s eye. It was a burn mark on the floor near the desk. With his phaser still raised, he crouched to investigate it. It was recent. Had someone managed to murder Kirk? If so, it was the shortest command in the history of the Terran Empire.

A low groan brought the young man’s attention to the sleeping alcove. “Keptin?” The tone of the groan changed. It was an acknowledgement. Chekov rushed into the sleeping area, ready to shoot the intruder trying to murder the new captain…if he still remained.

He was surprised to find only Kirk there. 

“Vhat happened?”

He received a disoriented glare. “Put that phaser down, Chekov. Now.” Chekov couldn’t contain the blush of embarrassment as he lowered it, replacing it quickly on his belt. “And the agonizer.” It, too, was replaced. He remained where he stood at a safe and unthreatening distance from Kirk. 

Kirk rubbed at his neck where it met his shoulder. “Fucking Vulcan,” he hissed. “Where is he?”

“I—” Chekov was confused. “—I don’t understand.”

“He’s not in here?” Chekov shook his head. “Perfect!” he spat. He managed to sit up, but he was a little wobbly. “I need a stimulant. You know where they are.”

Chekov hurried to Kirk’s desk and rifled quickly through the contents, finding a hidden compartment containing various items of questionable legality, even by Empirical standards. He grabbed a filled hypo and brought it to Kirk. The new captain looked it over carefully but quickly. Satisfied that it was the correct compound he slammed it into his chest above his heart, depressing it into his system. After only several short breaths he stood. “This will wear off soon, so I need to get to McCoy now. Get another one just in case it doesn’t last as long as it should, and for now, you’re my guard.”

Chekov grabbed another stimulant hypo and proceeded to bury the contents in the drawer again. He gave the backup hypo to Kirk, who tucked it away safely, as he scanned his quarters. “Little bastard took it.” He reached into a compartment near his bed producing another phaser. “Good thing I have spares, right?” He set it to the kill setting as he stalked  
to the door of his quarters. 

Chekov followed him. Before the door opened, Kirk turned to him. “At my side, not behind me.” Chekov stood at his right. “And Pavel,” Kirk continued with a grin. “Don’t miss. But the Vulcan’s mine.” He nodded at Chekov’s belt, a sign the younger man clearly understood. He drew and set his own phaser to kill just as the door opened.

 

 

Leonard McCoy wasn’t exactly lost in thought as he continued to make his rounds among the captive Vulcans, jabbing them with restrictive hypos every twenty seconds, but it was certainly the closest to distracted he’d been in a long time. His attention kept returning to the one Vulcan that was different from the rest. The older Vulcan, who – if he were human – did not look much older than Captain Pike. The one whose eyes continued to look, in vain McCoy knew, for his son. The male Vulcan’s eyes grew sadder and sadder when he could not find the Vulcan for whom he searched. 

It was at that moment as he heard him ask the question again, this time to Christine Chapel, “What have you done with my son?” that Leonard began to form a plan. Christine ignored the Vulcan, who proceeded to act completely irrationally by grabbing her arm. He had only managed to say the word, “Please,” before Christine backhanded the Vulcan with such a force that he was left to grab the edge of the biobed to keep himself upright. 

“No one cares about your son, Vulcan! With any luck, he’s dead.” With that, Chapel walked away and over to the darker-skinned member of Sickbay, discussing quietly and violently. McCoy could never remember that man’s name!

It was as good a time as any to test his theory. Leonard walked directly to this older Vulcan and grabbed his upper arm firmly, hauling him off of the biobed roughly. “Come with me,” he barked. He proceeded to roughly escort the Vulcan into his private office without slowing when the other stumbled on his sluggish feet. 

As they passed an even older female Vulcan, McCoy noticed the aliens make eye contact. The male he escorted spoke in his native tongue to her. “Rai, ko-mekh.” Whatever he said, it caused the female Vulcan to step back and watch as McCoy dragged him away. He made a mental note to have Uhura give him a basic Vulcan lesson in the near future. For now, body language would suffice. He did know that this Vulcan, along with several others, spoke Standard. How that came to be he did not know. It was a matter worth investigating at another time.

As soon as the door hissed closed to his office, McCoy shoved the Vulcan into one of the chairs near the desk. Still standing before him, Leonard gazed down at him. As he opened his mouth, the Vulcan found his own voice first. “You have separated me. Why?”

Normally, he wouldn’t even think about giving information before he received it, but it did not seem like an advantage were he to leave the Vulcan’s question unanswered. “I have an offer for you that you would likely find unwise to refuse.”

The Vulcan studied him. What he said surprised McCoy for a moment. “You have lied to me. You know what happened to my son. I presume your offer involves him.”

Leonard hoped he had managed to conceal his surprise from the Vulcan. “What’s your name?” The Vulcan did not move. He simply continued to stare. The doctor narrowed his gaze. “I don’t make deals with anyone if I don’t know at least with whom I’m making a deal.” He waited for a long moment, and then demanded. “Your name, Vulcan.”

It was the alien that broke eye contact. “I am Sarek t’D’H’riset be’Shi’Kahr, sa-fu t’Skon.” He raised only one eyebrow in what Leonard would call pride. “In your terms, however, you may think of me as a member of nobility.”

Leonard snorted. “Too bad that nobility won’t matter much anymore with your planet gone. It’s not much of a bargaining chip.” He had expected the Vulcan not to understand the term, but by his non-reaction, he clearly did. 

“It may still prove useful.”

The human and the Vulcan glared at each other for a long while, before finally McCoy spoke again. “I do know where your son is, and his safety is up to you.”

“I highly doubt that. Whatever you, or this crew, wish to do to my son, it would have already been done. There would be very little in my power to put an end to it, or to change it.” 

The doctor straightened. He began to pace the length of his office, stopping only to take hold of two empty glasses and a bottle of old-fashioned whiskey. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m going to tell you something that’s common knowledge on this ship, so it wouldn’t do much harm to mention it.”

He filled one glass and set it close to the Vulcan on the desk. The alien did not reach for it, nor did he even look at it. His gaze remained on McCoy. With an inner acknowledgement of his companion’s intelligence and suspicion, McCoy filled his own glass and sipped from it. It was only then that the Vulcan took his offered glass and sipped only enough to indicate his limited trust. 

“The captain and I could be considered friends. And I can tell you that your son is with the captain now.” He took a swig of the whiskey. “Most likely, and if I know my new captain, he’ll be getting to know your son…very intimately by now.”

Sarek shook his head once. “Then there is nothing that you can offer that would spare him from the fate this captain of yours has chosen for him. To warm his bed, if I understand you, which I’m sure I do.”

McCoy looked puzzled for a moment. “I’m not offering anything to you that would stop him from—” His tone turned mocking. “—warming his bed.” McCoy chuckled as he sipped the whiskey again. “I’m giving you an offer that would make it less painful for him in his current situation.”

Sarek fixed his gaze firmly on McCoy. “What is it that you are proposing?”

He thought the term the Vulcan used was frighteningly fitting. Proposing. The realization that he was about to do just that had him momentarily speechless. He chose instead of dodge just a little. “I hear that Vulcans are a strictly monogamous race. That once, I think the term is, bonded to another, they put the safety of their…uh…husband? Wife?”

Sarek shook his head sharply. “Not precisely. The term is telsu. In your terms…bonded or bondmate. It is applicable for the male and female of my people.”

If anyone had told McCoy that the first Vulcan word he would learn would be the one for ‘spouse,’ he would have laughed at them. Now, he couldn’t even speak. “Fine, telsu, then—” He did not even allow Sarek to correct his pronunciation before he continued with his thought. “You put their safety above all others. And that you are also fiercely protective of them. Is that right?”

“Your description is accurate enough.”

“So, you’d be a pretty ideal bodyguard, wouldn’t you? Especially for someone in high power?”

Sarek was beginning to understand. “Such as a captain of the Terran Empire?”

McCoy nodded. “I know you’re not stupid. I know you can figure this out. So let me give you a hypothetical situation. The captain’s going to force your son to marry him. With the strength of you people, the kid would make a damn formidable guard for him. And being married to him will let my captain actually enjoy fucking someone for a change without thinking he’ll be killed when he sleeps. Because with you people…you can’t murder your…telsu can you?”

Sarek replaced the glass on the desk and clasped his hands together. He was beginning to fully understand just what his son was likely about to experience, if he had not already. And he grieved for his son’s loss of innocence. “We cannot. To take the life of our mate is to gravely injure ourselves.” 

McCoy leapt at that admission. “The only thing about the captain is that he’s got a temper. A bad one. And if someone tries to cross him…that person suffers.” He waited for Sarek to make the connection. “You don’t want your son to suffer too much and pointlessly, do you?”

Sarek closed his eyes sadly. “And this is the moment when you make your proposal to lessen my son’s pain.” 

“Both yes and no.” McCoy wondered why he was saying so much. “See with being friends with the captain, I’m at a higher risk for assassination. I can’t have that. Like the captain, I need someone to trust not to kill me.” There was no reaction in the Vulcan. “And I’ve also heard that you people have no emotions. I don’t believe that. You asking about your son disproved it as clearly as I’m wearing the color blue and holding a glass of whiskey. You’re worried about him.”

“It is only natural to be concerned with one’s offspring.”

“Right. You’re scared. You’re scared something’s happened to him. And something is, Sarek. But you know what? That same thing that’s happening to him could happen to you. Or worse. My orders are to separate married pairs by executing one of them. You married?”

Sarek thought of his wife. His Amanda. The human bondmate that he would never see again because of an imploding planet. The woman who lived on in her son’s eyes. He hung his head. “I am no longer. She…she perished with Vulcan. She was about to be taken aboard this vessel, but she did not materialize on your platform.”

For an instant, he wanted to offer something. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when he had the advantage. “Well, at least you won’t have to see her executed now.” He watched the Vulcan flinch, and steeled himself. “Here’s the deal. You’re dealing with the death of your wife. I know there’s something wrong with you because of her death.”

Sarek nodded. “I have little control of my emotions. It is true; we do have them, but we choose not to exhibit them often, with the exception of our mates. With her death, I am…shaken.” 

“And a new marriage would stabilize you, wouldn’t it?”

Sarek’s reply was a whisper. “Yes.”

The human nodded victoriously. “You need stabilization. I need a bodyguard that won’t kill me. You want your son safe. I want my friend safe. Everyone wins in this case. All you have to do is marry me.” Sarek met his gaze. “Anything you do against me I can make sure my captain does to your son. You kill me and your son dies. Keep me safe, he’s safe too. It’s your choice.”

“How can you exact this same promise from your captain?”

McCoy shrugged. “All I have to do is tell him the deal we arrange. All you have to do is agree to keep your son alive and safe.” Sarek lowered his gaze from the doctor’s. McCoy set down his now empty glass and headed toward the door that led back into the sickbay. He sighed as the door slid open. “I would have thought your answer was obvious. You must not like your boy that much.” 

The door slid shut again before Sarek could answer. 

Leonard had only stepped around the corner of the tiny hallway to see a sight he didn’t quite expect, especially in the area of his domain. It was a crewmember standing over the crumbled form of a younger Vulcan who lay on the floor curled into himself. What he noticed instantly was that this Vulcan did not have ankle bindings. When he got a look at the face, even through the green-blood dripping from his mouth and the fresh bruises beginning to blossom, McCoy activated his comm. He barely heard the answer before he announced, “Jim, get your ass here now. Mitchell’s found your Vulcan.”


	4. The Captain's Claim

“Drop your weapon or you’re dead, Vulcan!”

He had gone still as soon as he’d felt the phaser pressed to the back of his head.  There were several options open to him.  He could knock his attacker’s weapon away and render his assailant unconscious relatively quickly.  Although, with his hands still bound, it would prove more difficult than if they were freed.  He was also assuming that his unseen opponent was smaller and – even in his inhibited state – weaker than himself.  This assumption could be wrong. 

Suddenly, pain exploded at his lower back.  He barely stifled a gasp from the jarring sensation.  Without conscious knowledge, his stolen weapon slipped from his hands to clatter uselessly to the deck.  This was the opening his assailant needed.

The human did not stun him nor shoot him.  Instead, he brought the handgrip of the phaser down viciously onto the Vulcan’s skull, sending his captive forward into the wall.  His bound hands clawed vainly at the smooth surface as his body slid to the deck still shaking from the aftershocks of his previous pain.  Before he could recover, a booted foot kicked him in his shoulder, forcing him around to face his attacker.  He struggled to get his body to stop shaking, but he was having difficulty. 

The man before him was approximately the same age as his earlier captor, but darker in appearance.  His hair was darker.  His eyes were darker.  His skin was a little tanner.  But his overall bearing was menacing.  This may have been emphasized due to the fact that he stood over his captive’s shaking and crumbled form.  He leaned down towards him, and held up a small red and grey object between them.  It was no bigger than the man’s palm.  “Know what this is?”  He did not wait for the Vulcan’s response.  “It’s an agonizer.  Named pretty well, too.  One of my favorite things the Empire’s come up with for weaponry.  What do you think of it?  Or did it fry your brain circuits?”

He only managed to grasp the inaccuracy of the statement.  “My brain is—”

Pain exploded on the side of his skull as his captor smashed his phaser into his head, making him question his sense of balance.  “I didn’t ask about your brain, Vulcan!  I asked what you think of the agonizer!”  Then, the man smiled thinly at him.  “Maybe you can’t remember.  I’ll remind you.”  He pressed the small object to the left side of the Vulcan’s chest and activated it.  This time, the bound male gasped audibly and his eyes clenched involuntarily from the pain.  He felt his body shaking, but no matter what disciplines he attempted in his pain-filled mind, he could not force his limbs into stillness.  Finally, the agonizer was removed from his chest. 

As though from a distance, he heard the human laughing at him as he desperately drew in deep breaths.  “Feels good, doesn’t it?”  He shook his head in the negative.  He disagreed with the man’s statement.  A moment later, the front of his clothing was gripped tightly in the man’s fist, and he was pulled closer to the human.  “Well, you better learn to like it, because this is your home now!  Vulcan’s gone and you’ll never be free again.  You belong to the Empire now.”

The grip on his clothing did not lessen.  He was hauled up to his still trembling feet by the human, and bodily escorted to a door.  It slid open obediently, and he found himself pushed backwards into it.  He grimaced as his back smashed into the curved wall.  Instantaneously, the human was on him again.  He could not even prepare.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

She was not a fool.  She knew precisely what was going on.  In fact, she had at one time been on the other side of this game.  She was not fond of her present position…or the position in which her clan members now found themselves.  She had gone through the pain of broken bonds before and – like before – she would endure.  Granted, it was not as numerous as it was now, with so many of her clan no longer alive.  So many lives lost. 

She looked around the bay in which she was being kept.  The majority of the bound Vulcans were familiar to her.  However, there were four in this room on whom she paid closest attention.  Her grandson and his rather recent bondmate were the first that she recognized when she recovered from unconsciousness to find herself in this…it seemed to be a sickbay.  The two mates stood close to each other, trying to draw comfort and safety from one another. 

They welcomed another into their little impromptu group.  She was younger by a great many years.  It was her young granddaughter, T’Kyi’i.  She was slightly better off than most of the captives in this bay.  She had not yet been truly bonded.  When the seismic activity had begun on the planet’s surface, it had interrupted the young female’s bonding ceremony.  Her to-be-mate had just reached his maturity and his blood had called her to their place of meeting, but their bond was never completed.  The place of meeting occurred only several miles away from the location that a certain drill had pierced the planet’s surface.  In terror, T’Kyi’i fled from her place of meeting and sought her closest relative. 

Her elder brother, Stonn. 

Stonn, with his mate, brought them to their uncle’s estate as quickly as he could for counsel on where to go for safety.  As a member of the House of Surak, he was entitled to the swiftest and best care on the planet, despite his own father having died after the death of his own mate.  His uncle was the closest thing he had to a father.  Stonn was very fond of his uncle – and valued his opinion greatly – and he tolerated his cousin, but he had no affection for his aunt.  After all, she had been a former captive.  He still did not understand his uncle’s logic in bonding with the human slave.  She had belonged to Stonn’s mother, who had no love for the human either.  She was only claimed from Stonn’s household when his parents died.  As the male head, S’Haile Sarek was able to choose of his brother’s what he wished.  And among those, he had chosen his brother’s human slave, Amanda Grayson, and later bonded with her.

None of them were safe.  Stonn had only just managed to bring his only family to the Katric Ark – the sanctuary belonging to members of the House of Surak, and the Council of Elders.  They had only seen them for a brief moment.  She remembered. 

 

_“Clan Mother!  The planet is not safe! It is collapsing!  We must leave now!” No sooner had Stonn spoken that the tunnel caved in, separating her grandchildren from her and her son’s family.  For an instant no one could react, except for her youngest grandson, Spockh._

_“Stonn!  T’Kyi’i!”  He had gone to the cave-in and began digging them out._

_Stonn’s muffled voice was heard.  “Leave us.  You must all get off the planet.  It is destroying itself.”_

_“I cannot leave you all to die,” Spockh responded, his voice shaking as he struggled with the rocks._

_“Spockh!” came the demanding shout of his father.  It was enough to get the younger Vulcan’s attention.  Sarek had gone up to stand beside his son.  “If what he says is true, then your efforts will be wasted.  The seismic waves of the planet will only cause further barriers between you and your cousin.”_

_Spockh shook his head and was about to continue when Sarek grabbed his son by the upper arm.  “Go to your mother.  Begin leading our house and the elders to our ship.  You must ensure their safety.”  It was a tone he rarely used that did not allow for a challenge._

_Spockh obeyed.  He went directly to his human mother, and gently wound her arm through his.  “Come, mother.  Clan Mother, Elders, please follow me.”_

_T’Pau was well aware of where their house’s ship was, but allowed this task to fall on her grandson.  He was fully capable.  She looked back to Sarek and saw him touching the rocks carefully.  Deliberately.  It was only moments later, when Sarek had rejoined them that she realized what he had done.  “I have given Stonn instructions on how to reach the lesser used passages leading to the surface, and thus to our house’s transport.  If they are unhindered, we should reach our destination at nearly the same moment.”  He had mindmelded with his nephew through the rocks._

_Her son had taken her hand to steady her as they emerged from the Katric Ark to unstable ground.  They were just behind Spockh and Amanda.  Just as they were about to take their first steps onto the bridge to the transport, T’Pau had looked up to see something the younger Vulcan and the human did not.  “Spockh!” Spockh stopped and halted his mother’s progress._

_The bridge closest to the transport vessel had already collapsed from the seismic shocks.  Behind them was the crumbling hillside leading to the Katric Ark, where they would be guaranteed to die crushed and surrounded by rocks.  Ahead of them was a collapsing bridge.  She looked briefly to her right.  It was Stonn, his bondmate, and T’Kyi’i.  They had escaped and were alive.  A bright flash of light surrounded them, and she knew it for what it was – the light of a transporter’s energy.  The Empire had arrived for them._

_“Sarek.”  Her son looked to her.  “We are about to become captives.”_

_Then, the ground shook.  Sarek looked ahead to his family.  The ground in front of them was dangerously unstable.  “Spockh!  Amanda!”  He released his mother, and reached for his mate.  But his son turned and Sarek’s outstretched arm grabbed his son, whom he flung to the slightly more stable ground behind him.  The action caused Sarek’s balance to slip.  Spockh was on his feet immediately. With one hand, he stabilized his father.  With his other hand, he reached forward to Amanda._

_But as the transporter’s bright energy enveloped her, T’Pau saw that it was not around her son’s mate.  “Mother!” She closed her eyes as she heard simultaneously the ground below Amanda’s feet collapse as the human woman screamed in terror.  “Mother!”_

_When she opened her eyes again, it was to see the interior of a ship of the Terran Empire, and the blue eyes of a young man glaring at them without any affection or mercy._

She’d been shot almost as soon as she’d realized where they had ended up.  She had woken up from the stun-effect to find herself in the very bay she remained.  Her first instinct was to search for her family.  It was to her fortune that she saw those closest to her instantly.  Stonn, T’Pring, and T’Kyi’i huddled together, despite their feet and wrists being bound.  Her son, however, was seated on a biobed alone. 

Spockh, her grandson, was missing.

She did not pay attention to the dark-haired man going around injecting everyone with a hypospray.  He was not relevant.  Her son’s mental health, however, was relevant to her.  Sarek continually asked about his son’s location, and only once received an answer.  It was not even a helpful answer.  She flinched as the blonde female struck Sarek for speaking to her before taunting him that Spockh was dead.  T’Pau certainly hoped he was still alive – even if only for Sarek’s sake.  Her son was strong-willed, but even the most rigid and disciplined of wills can be broken by the loss of one’s bondmate and offspring. 

Her attention went back to Stonn and his family.  T’Kyi’i rested her head on her brother’s shoulder as she tried to meditate, secure in his nearness to her.  Stonn and T’Pring were clasping hands, tenderly intertwining their fingers in reassurance and affection.  They would survive.  They would endure.  They would be well.

T’Pau heard the human in blue order someone to go with him.  To her surprise, it was her son.  The human was bodily escorting Sarek away from all of the other Vulcans.  For a moment of terror and uncertainty, she feared that Sarek was being taken away to be executed.  She stepped forward to intervene, but he spoke quietly to her. “Rai, ko-mekh.”  She backed away into her corner again without a word.  If Sarek believed himself safe, he most likely would return to her unharmed.  Like his mother, Sarek was not a fool. 

But she did wonder what this human male could want with him.  She would be patient.  She knew she would find out sooner or later. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

A closed fist smashed into the Vulcan’s right cheekbone, effectively forcing his head into the wall.  Even before he would have had the opportunity to face his attacker again, his chin was gripped hard and he was forced to do so.  “You know, I heard what we’re all supposed to do with you people.”  The man’s eyes slowly traveled the length of the alien’s body before he looked at his half-open eyes.  “You know what that was?”

He met the gaze of the human as fiercely as he was able.  “You will tell me even if I have heard it before.”  His only knowledge of his peoples’ fate was his interaction with the young captain.

The human’s reaction was to bring their faces closer together as he bristled for only a moment before his reply was a whisper.  “We’re keeping you as slaves.  And not just the normal type.”  He pressed the Vulcan against the wall with his own body.  “The fun type.” 

“Slavery, no matter to what degree, can never be considered fun.”

“To the master it is.  And you aren’t the master here.”  He latched his hand around the Vulcan’s throat and began to apply pressure.  “I am.  And there’s only one thing for me to do right here in this stopped turbolift, where nothing is monitored, where no one can hear you, and where no one can save you.”

He had no choice but to part his lips seeking the needed air he was being denied by the human’s grip on his neck.  With his agonizer still clutched in his hand, the man mockingly ran his finger along his captive’s jawline before tracing it along his lower lip.  “All I have to do is fuck you.”  His smile was anything but friendly.  “Bet a savage like you would like it, wouldn’t you?”  He loosened his hand and allowed the Vulcan one full breath before tightening his hand again, cutting off his air.  He ran his hand with the agonizer down the Vulcan’s chest slowly as he spoke.  “You’d be my whore and I’d keep you chained in my quarters.  Oh, I’d feed you, of course, just to keep you alive.  Who wants to fuck a corpse?  I know I wouldn’t.”  He cupped his captive’s groin, fondling there before he pushed the agonizer against the Vulcan and activated it.  With his air restricted, he could not even scream.  The only release he was able to display was the tears forming in his eyes.  His body shook from the shocks of the agonizer, but the human’s body held him in place.  His captor most likely found the shaking arousing, if his grin was an indication.  “But once I get off duty, I’d come back—”  He pressed himself harder against the trembling Vulcan, as he lunged forward to bite down hard on the sensitive ear-point.  “And I’d fuck you until you passed out.”  He applied more pressure to the agonizer at the Vulcan’s groin.  “And I’d keep going, so you’d wake up while I was still fucking you, and you’d be reminded of who owned you, who claimed you.”  A single tear escaped and began to slide down the Vulcan’s face.  “You won’t know much else except the feel of my cock in you.”  As he removed the agonizer, he licked the tear from the green-tinged cheek.  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

It was then that the Vulcan attempted to speak.  But the lack of air did not quite allow it.  “Are you trying to say something, little slave?”  Then, his tone softened, “Oh, but how can you talk with me choking you?”  He relaxed his grip on the throat, growing slightly more and more pleased at the green bruises beginning to appear on that column of skin.  The alien sobbed for several minutes as he struggled to breathe.  “What were you trying to say?”

“I—”  He broke off, choking on the sudden surplus of air. 

“Accept your position?  Good!”  With that, he brought his body forward hard into the Vulcan, and attacked the alien’s lips like an animal devouring its prey. 

But the prey resisted.  He knew he had only one way to escape this human, and he had no choice but to take it.  The Vulcan bit the man’s bottom lip as hard as he could.  With a howl, the man broke away and swung his fist into the Vulcan’s mouth, splitting his lip and sending him to the deck.   “I belong to the captain!”

The human froze as he comprehended the sentence, but quickly schooled himself from the surprise.  “You’re lying.  You don’t even know who the captain is!”  He rammed his booted foot into the Vulcan’s stomach, forcing him to curl into himself. 

“Vulcans cannot lie!  I belong to the captain!”

He crouched down and grabbed the Vulcan’s hair, jarring his head up to face him, purposefully twisting his neck in an uncomfortable angle.  “If that’s true, then describe him.”

“He—”  He ignored the pain in his neck and the tremors still coursing through his body from the agonizer as best he could.  “—He is impressive for his musculature.”

His listener was confused for a second or two.  “He’s stronger than he looks?”  This answer seemed accurate of Pike enough. 

His translation was confirmed by the Vulcan’s quiet response.  “Affirmative.”

He tugged on the hair, eliciting a gasp.  “What else?”

“His hair is lighter than yours.”

He nodded.  “You better keep talking and a lot faster or you’ll get the agonizer longer for being slow.”

He saw the Vulcan react fearfully for only a moment before the alien masked it.  “He has a strong jawline, and his hands are strong.  His height is not equal to my own.  And his eyes are…”  He remembered them clearly and suddenly.  They were the first thing he had seen when he materialized on board this vessel.  “…piercing.” 

This was not enough information for the man.  “What color are they?”

The question surprised him.  “Blue.  Bright blue.”

He smiled down at his captive in an expression devoid of friendliness.  “Wrong.  The captain has grey eyes.”  He saw the confusion and surprise on the alien’s face, but did not give him a chance to question him.  With his hand clenched in the black hair, he slammed the Vulcan’s skull against the turbolift wall, dazing him long enough for him to press the agonizer into the center of the alien’s chest and activating it.  With a satisfied grin to himself, he watched as the Vulcan gasped and shook from the pulsing shocks of the agonizer.  “Now I know you’re in bad shape right now thanks to my little device here, but I think we should play this safe, how about you?” He shouted a command to the turbolift.  “Lift, Medbay.”  The turbolift began to move again. 

He leaned further toward the shaking Vulcan.  “If you belong to the captain as you say, and you weren’t with him, then it seems you must have escaped from him.”  The weak glare he received for that comment gave him the confirmation he needed.  “Well, we can’t have you freaks running around the ship like that now, can we?” 

“Where are you taking me?”

“You need your weakening cocktail.”  The Vulcan looked at him in confusion.  “How else do you think you aren’t stronger than us right now?  It’s because we drugged you to weaken you!”  He laughed.  “Thought you Vulcans were supposed to be smart.” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but found his voice stopped as the man’s fist connected with his lips, knocking his head to the side, a splash of green blood spewing from this parted lips at the impact.  Weakly, he raised his arms to attempt to block further attacks, but the man had anticipated that.  They were still bound, and so his freedom of movement was extremely limited.  The man grabbed the thin bar between his wrists and held his arms up and out of the way.  He repeatedly delivered kick after kick to his stomach and chest.  It was only luck that he missed the area where his heart rested. 

By the time the doors of the turbolift opened, the Vulcan’s energy was nearly gone, and he was overwhelmed with pain and the aftershocks of the agonizer’s effects to the point that he could do little else but hang his full weight from the bound arms that his captor kept raised while he beat him. 

“Let’s go see the good doctors,” he quipped as the doors opened.  “Get up.”

But he could not rise.  He could not force his feet or legs to cooperate.  And so it was with a stinging pride that he found himself dragged bodily by his bound wrists into the medical bay and right to the middle of the room.  He knew that his entrance was being observed by many of his people.  He could not bring himself to meet their gazes such was his shame.

The man threw him to the ground, and allowed the other Vulcans to look at him.  “If you don’t obey us, you’ll all suffer like this.  Would you like a further demonstration?”

The man was merciless with his fists and his boot.  The bound alien did not even try to contain his cries, but he refused to allow more than whimpers.  “Come on, you Vulcan whore, scream!”  He felt the tiny device put against his midsection, and immediately he began seizing on the deck under the onslaught of the agonizer. 

Only this time, he did more than whimper. 

He screamed.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“Jim, get your ass here now.  Mitchell’s found your Vulcan.”

Kirk only had one response to McCoy’s comm.  “Son of a bitch!”  He headed quickly for the nearest turbolift.  “Come on, Pav!”  The Russian followed closely behind his new captain, just barely sliding into the lift before it closed again.  Kirk wasted no time in barking out his destination. 

As they waited for the lift to take them to the Medbay, Chekov kept his eyes on his new captain and friend.  He knew some of the expressions of the man better than the majority of those on this ship.  And he knew that when Kirk had this look, the person for whom it was intended did not want to be caught by him.  It was a look that promised there would be no mercy, no holds barred, no compassion. 

And Chekov knew that at times, very rare times, did Kirk allow the last to show. 

“When I get that Vulcan back…” Kirk trailed off, trying to imagine just what it was he wanted to do to the alien.  He caught Chekov’s gaze, and flashed him a half smile.  “Well, let’s just say I won’t underestimate him again.”

“He escaped from you?”

That earned him a glare.  “Because I made the same mistake Kodos did with me.”  Then, he snorted to himself.  “You think I’d know better.”

Anything Chekov could have said was interrupted by the turbolift doors opening and admitting them to Leonard McCoy’s domain. 

Kirk sprinted toward the commotion in the center of the room.  It wasn’t difficult at all to locate his escaped captive; everyone – Vulcan and Human alike – were watching as Gary Mitchell continued to pummel the figure on the deck.  Kirk saw McCoy off to the side, lingering near his office door.  Beside him stood an older Vulcan male.  And beside him was an even older female.  Both were still bound, and both looked on at the beating in near horror.  When the Vulcan screamed, Kirk attention was brought back to the matter at hand.  He saw Gary hunched over the Vulcan with a cruel sneer on his face as he pressed the agonizer against the center of his chest. 

With the stride of tired indifference, Kirk strolled over to Mitchell, who flashed him a pleased smile.  Kirk returned it briefly until Mitchell’s attention was back on the writhing and screaming Vulcan.  It was only when he lifted the agonizer from the heaving chest that Kirk acted. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The pressure and torture device was gone, but there was shouting and a wild commotion directly above him.  With a great deal of effort, he opened his eyes to see that his original captor had arrived in the room.  His efforts to keep him unconscious seemed to have been in vain.  He struggled to get a better view of what was going on, but his movement was aborted when he heard a strange accent command him.  “Don’t move, Vulcan.”  He looked in the direction of the voice and found a phaser pointed at him.  “Stay down.”

Instead, he watched what was happening between the young captain and the man who’d tortured him.  He was slightly disappointed to have apparently missed some of their loud conversation.  “—belongs to the captain, and he’s not here!”

The shorter and lighter haired man laughed.  “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, Gary?”

“He wouldn’t make you—”

“Pike made me captain when he went to the Romulans.”  He slammed the other man up against a bulkhead, the Vulcans that had been in front of it only just managing to get out of their way.  “I know taking orders from me as second really got under your skin, but guess what, you’ll have to get used to it because I’m your captain now.” 

Gary went to raise his phaser against Kirk, but the younger man easily twisted his arm aside, and wrenched the weapon from him, tossing it to the deck carelessly. 

And it landed directly in front of the bleeding Vulcan.  He stared at it for only an instant before it was snatched from the deck by the young human holding him immobile at phaser-point.  “Don’t even try.”  He turned his attention back to the fighting humans, not even caring that the blood was still slowly flowing from his split lip. 

“And for once, the prisoner was right.  He does belong to me.”  With some of the quickest execution the Vulcan had ever seen, Kirk took Mitchell’s legs out from under him, grabbed the wrist still holding the agonizer and pressed it – with Gary’s grip still on the device – to the darker man’s chest above his heart.  Then, he activated it.  Mitchell tried to contain his voice, but was struggling to do so.  “And you know what, Mitchell?”  The other human glared at Kirk.  “I don’t like sharing.”  Kirk drew back his fist and delivered a blow to the other man’s skull.

And another. 

And another.

The Vulcan did not expect this human captain to be so…violent.  Only when Kirk was certain that Mitchell would not get up quickly did he get up and step away from him.  “Chekov, get Reilly here and take Mitchell to the agony booth to make sure what I just said sticks.”  Chekov nodded and got on his communicator to get Reilly into Medbay. 

But then Kirk’s attention was back on his escaped captive, and for the first time the Vulcan recoiled in fear.  He only managed to feebly scurry backwards less than a foot before the front of his clothing was clenched in the man’s fist, and he was turned roughly and slammed face down on a biobed’s surface.  He was still on his feet, but his upper body was bent onto the bed.  His breath was forced from his lungs as Kirk pressed the front of his body to his back, pushing him down on the bed so firmly he felt the edge digging into his pelvis.  He felt the man’s breath against the shell of his ear before his voice accompanied it.  “If I knew you wanted to play rough, I wouldn’t have wasted all that time before.”  Kirk’s arm came between the bed and the Vulcan’s neck before it tightened in a chokehold.  “Would’ve just fucked you and taken what I wanted.  But I wanted you to surrender to me, and maybe actually come to enjoy it. And how do you repay my kindness?  You knock me out and run away.”  The other arm, Kirk snaked around the Vulcan’s waist, and brought the slender body back onto his own groin, before he began to rock into the trembling alien.  “You won’t ever run away from me again.”

“Please,” he managed to choke.

Kirk ignored him and tightened his chokehold on the Vulcan.  “When I want you to speak, I’ll let you speak.  Otherwise, you keep quiet, you understand?”  He felt the nod.  “Now, I was going to do this in private, just you and me, but your…flight, let’s say, just ruined that for you.” 

The human reached underneath the tunic the Vulcan was wearing, searching for the fastenings of the dark trousers.  It only took him a moment before he was successful.  “There.”  He roughly tore them down just enough to expose the paleness of his captive’s rear.  He smiled as he felt the Vulcan’s trembling increase.  “My turn,” he growled as he brought his fingers between the crease of the Vulcan, seeking something in particular.

Despite the tightened hold, the Vulcan was barely able to whisper, “Please—don’t—”  His voice was halted as the captain touched a place that no one else had touched.  The human ran his fingertip over his entrance, teasing him.  He tensed knowing that no one was going to help him.  He closed his eyes, and held his breath.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

When he saw his son tortured on the deck, he maintained his composure.  When he saw the young captain beat a member of his own crew, he could not help but shift his weight uneasily.  Then, the human had pinned his son to the biobed.  Sarek glanced at the human in blue standing beside him, and considered his offer again.  He was to keep this human safe from harm.  If he fulfilled his end of this twisted bargain, he would remain safe.  If both of them were safe, then the captain would not unnecessarily harm his son, as long as his son did not harm the captain.  Everyone was safe in this deal, so long as no one failed to do their duties. 

But the price would be that Sarek would knowingly and willingly give his son’s wellbeing to this cruel human.  Was he willing to deliver him to their captors like this?  To be the human’s bedwarmer, his slave, his whore?

But in doing so, his son would be safe. 

“Please—” he heard his son choke. 

Sarek now understood what his now dead wife must have felt as he regarded his son.  Her terror at his coming to own her and her family from his brother.  How he had been in this human captain’s position.  Had he not been suffering through his pon farr with no bondmate to ease his fire things may have been different.  He tried to remember.  Had Amanda been as frightened as Spockh?  Had she resigned herself to her fate?  What had her father felt about an alien lord taking possession of his young daughter’s body and mind as he ravaged her in the madness of the blood fever? 

He had probably felt as Sarek felt now. 

The captain had forced his son’s trousers down to expose his entrance.  “My turn.”  Sarek looked again at the human beside him, who was watching what was happening with a blank expression that would have rivaled the most controlled Vulcan.  He looked back to his son and his soon-to-be rapist.  “Please, don’t—” 

He turned to the man next to him.  “I accept your proposition.”  The man looked at him in surprise.  “Please spare my son this public humiliation.” 

Sarek only received a nod in return, before he strode purposefully to the young captain, who was still stroking his captive’s entrance, but with a little more enthusiasm.  He did not hear what was said between the two men.  He did not even care.  He willed himself to remain where he was, even as the captain released his son’s throat, even as he threw his son to the deck where he remained unmoving but sobbing, even as the captain stormed furiously through the doorway from which Sarek had recently emerged. 

The other man followed the captain but stopped in front of Sarek.  “Get your son ready.  He still belongs to my captain now, and he’s going to have him before day’s end.”  He sighed then came much closer to Sarek than either of them thought he would.  “I’ll try to calm him down for your boy.” 

Sarek did not verbally reply, but he knew that the human saw the gratitude in his expression.  Then, the human was gone into the office with the captain. 

Only then did Sarek go to his son.  For the first time since he was a child, he cradled his son in his arms, trying to right his clothing to salvage what little remained of his dignity.  “You are safe, Spockh.  You are safe, my son.” 

Spockh’s bound hands came up to clutch at his father’s clothing.  But he could not speak.  The only sound coming from his throat was raspy sobbing.  He buried his bleeding and bruised face into his father’s chest.  

Sarek hoped that his son would understand his actions one day.  He hoped his son would forgive him.


	5. Chosen Rewards, Brave Sacrifices

Captain Christopher Pike was not entirely sure what to expect as he was seized in a tractor beam by the Romulan vessel.  Luckily, he’d released his away team into the Vulcan atmosphere less than a minute ago.  Who knows what would have happened to them under the restriction of the tractor beam from this behemoth ship.  He hoped Reilly, Mitchell, and Olson were successful.  However, he was being pulled closer and closer to this ship. 

And all he could do was wait.

He felt the rough landing of the shuttle as it settled in the interior of the ship.  It was a long journey through the inside to the landing platform.  It seemed there was endless construction going on in the ship.  And this hollowed interior was the way it was to do exactly what they did with his shuttle.  It was airspace.  There were little one-man aircars zipping from platform to platform, like worker bees or an ant colony. 

He suddenly felt smaller than he had in a very long time.

He took a deep breath and then released the door-hatch.  No one invaded the shuttle.  Was it a trap?  Some sort of false security?

Either way, he was unarmed as the Romulan – Nero – had demanded.  And the last thing he was about to do was go into the enemy territory with a weapon, even if he ended up needing one. He was skilled in fighting.  He’d be fine.

Pike stood and made his way cautiously to the exit of the shuttle.  When he appeared in the entryway, he was surprised to find only two Romulans standing before him.  He had been expecting more.  An escort group of guards…not just one. He was only slightly disappointed.

“Hello, Christopher.” 

Deciding on caution, he responded with minimal words.  “Captain Nero.”

The tattooed Romulan tilted his head to the side.  “My crew addresses me as _Prod_ , a shortened term for Praetor.”

Pike knew a suggested command when he heard it.  “Prod Nero, then.”  He made no move to descend from the shuttle. 

Nero shook his head.  “No need to attempt to intimidate me by standing above me, Christopher.  Either way, I refuse to look up at you.”  With that, he turned his back to Pike and strode away.

The Romulan that remained stared at Pike.  Nero’s voice drifted back to them.  “Well, Ayel, escort our guest to his quarters.  We have much to discuss!”

Pike was suddenly confused.  Guest?  With quarters?  This contradicted completely with what he’d been expecting when Nero demanded he come to the Narada.  His thoughts were interrupted as the other Romulan – Ayel – stood directly in front of him.  “This way, Captain Pike.”  In the same manner as his leader, Ayel turned sharply and followed the path that Nero had gone.

Pike had no choice but to follow.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

 “You what?”

McCoy sighed.  “You heard me, Jim.  You wanted me to pick one of them.  I did, but I did it with a little persuasion.”

Jim went directly to the frosted glass panel behind McCoy’s desk, and triggered the release.  The glass turned clear and then slid aside to reveal a modest collection of alcohol.  It was the doctor’s secret stash.  And it definitely had some Saurian Brandy in there.  He ignored the glasses next to the bottles and went right for the bottle.  “Yeah, well, apparently you and I both have different ideas on what the word persuasion means.”  He took a deep drink.  “So, let me make sure I understand this.”  He threw himself into the desk chair and swung his feet up onto the desk, just barely missing the stack of padds.  “You told this Vulcan that if he agreed to bond with you, you’d be able to keep his son safe.  That very same son that I’ve been trying to fuck since we beamed him aboard—”

“Third attempt’s the charm, I guess.”

That earned him a glare.  “But you’re telling me that under the conditions of your arrangement I can’t just go and do whatever and however I want to him.”  He took another long swig.  “What the hell am I supposed to do, oh dearest friend?  Woo him?”

McCoy threw up his hands in the universally understood gesture.  “Now hang on there, stallion.  I’m not saying you gotta be all warm and cuddly with him because I told his father you’d be.  What I _am_ saying is to try not to be _too_ rough with the boy.”

The younger man actually pouted.  “Anything less than rough is personal…intimate.”

The doctor snorted.  “Hate to break it to you, Jim-boy, but sex _is_ intimate.  Rough or not.  It’s going to be personal, especially to that terrified kid out there, who we both know is a virgin in every sense of the word.”  Jim glowered into the bottle of brandy.  McCoy sighed and then went right over to his best friend and perched himself on the corner of the desk.  “Listen, all you need to do is pull back your aggression a little.”

“That gets you killed in the Empire, Bones, you know that.”

“But it doesn’t in the bedroom.” 

There was a heavy silence for a long while. 

“Jim, think about it.  Your goal here is to make him a bodyguard right?  What incentive to actually protect you would he have if all you do is rape him?  Or do I have to remind you about your experience in that Vulcan’s position?”

Jim stabbed him with his eyes.  “Don’t you dare, McCoy.”

He knew he’d gotten through to him when he was addressed by his last name.  He had his friend’s attention.  “Even you had an incentive to just lie back and take it.  This boy’s incentive is that if he just deals with you rutting all over him, his father will be unharmed and safe.  And keep in mind that if you put that kid in my sickbay because you decided to take something out on him that he’s not responsible for, guess what?  His father?  He’ll do the same or worse to me.”  He saw the instant Jim began to truly think about the situation.  “Don’t do to that kid what you wouldn’t want done to me.”

Jim didn’t reply for at least five minutes.  He simply stayed where he was, lounging with his feet up, tipping back the brandy occasionally.  “So, you concocted a twisted and vicious circle.”

McCoy smirked.  “What?  I was looking out for my own ass.  Just so happened I figured out how to save yours, too.”  He took the bottle from his friend and took a drink of his own.  “Who knows, Jim.  This might even be better than your Kobayashi Maru solution, because everyone involved wins.”

Jim chuckled.  “Shut up, Bones.  Who knew you’d end up being this manipulative?”

He passed Jim the bottle.  “Well, I learned from you, after all.”

“Touché.”  He took another sip.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Sarek’s attention did not divert from his son even as another came to kneel beside them.  “Sa-fu…”  He knew she was speaking in their tongue trying to comfort him, but it was only making him feel all the more isolated in this human sickbay as he held his trembling son.  However, he suspected that their native language would soothe his son.

He ignored his mother’s concern.  Right now his only concern was for his son.  “Spockh-kan,” he whispered, using the diminutive.  Sarek winced as the realization set in.  His son was going to lose that childhood innocence very soon.  It was unfitting for him to refer to his son as ‘little one.’  He pressed Spockh’s head against his chest, holding him firmly and securely.  It took a great deal of effort to keep his voice steady.  “Nam’uh hayal.”  He stroked his son’s glossy hair as his bondmate used to do.  He remembered it as a motion that comforted Spockh.  He hoped it worked now.  “Nam’uh hayal.”

His mother spoke again.  “Sound advice, my son.  Perhaps you should heed your own words.”

He looked at T’Pau.  “I am calm.  His abuse has been halted.  That would calm even the most fretful of parents.”

She shook her head.  “You are not.  Your mind is in turmoil.  You are suffering from the death of your mate.”  Spockh made a wounded sound against the fabric of Sarek’s tunic. 

“I have found a solution to ease that pain.”

T’Pau nodded knowingly.  “You speak of the words given to the stern human male.  You intend to bond with him.”  She studied Sarek as he closed his eyes and lowered his head to rest upon Spockh’s.  “What is it the human proposes for you?”

“He has offered me stability in exchange for protection from assassination attempts on him.”

This was not everything, she knew.  “You have endured a broken bond before.”  He nodded.  “What compelled you to accept him as a mate?”

Sarek’s answer was silence as he continued to soothe his son.  Spockh was beginning to calm, his tension lessening, but his pain remaining constant. “He has given his assurance that Spockh will not be harmed by his captor.”  At the mention of the human captain, Spockh buried his face into his father’s chest, a whimper escaping his hoarse throat. 

T’Pau shook her head.  “One cannot control the actions of another.  This human cannot prevent the other from harming your son.”

“The condition that applies to our agreement is that I cannot harm the physician.  Should I injure him, the captain will retaliate against me using Spockh as his outlet.” 

T’Pau stared hard at her son.  There were too many fallacies in this situation.  Too many ways that the humans could ignore their own bargain and abuse her son and grandson.  Sarek’s agreement was made out of desperation, she was certain.  It was supremely illogical to cling to the word of an untrustworthy race.  He had been bonded to a human for too long.  He was forgetting his discipline.  But it was not her place to remind him of his flaws.  This was a time for support.  “You place an unusual amount of trust in this physician’s word, and his captain’s respect for him.”

Sarek nodded slowly.  “I have no other option.”

T’Pau brought her attention to the other remaining members of their family.  She pierced the elder female with her eyes.  “T’Pring, nash-veh betau.” 

The black-haired female rose with the grace of a sleek feline.  It took time with her ankle bindings but she obeyed her matriarch’s command to approach them.  She knelt before Sarek and T’Pau using the same grace with which she stood, fluidly folding her legs underneath her.  “Pid-kom,” she addressed T’Pau by her title, Matriarch. 

“You are a healer by profession.  Your uncle-by-marriage is to bond shortly.  But the pain of his last bond must be eased.  Your cousin-by-marriage is also to bond.  His broken parental bond must also be eased.  Accomplish this task with alacrity, as the time remaining is unknown.”

T’Pring did not reply with words.  Instead, she reached out towards Sarek’s face, her fingers stretching to seek out his psi-points.  “My son first.  I have more time than he.”

T’Pring nodded.  She could not access Spockh’s face.  Sarek understood her dilemma.  “Spockh, you must look to your cousin-by-marriage.”  Spockh sighed in resignation before he raised his head to his father, the grief in his eyes the very same as Amanda’s when she realized she had been forcibly bonded to her Vulcan master.  Sarek tried to contain the sting of the familiar expression, the haunted look in them. 

“Rai, sanu,” Spockh pleaded.  He did not want to be prepared for a bond with that man.  Not with the cruel human who nearly raped him in front of his people. 

Sarek cupped his son’s bloody and bruised face in his bound hands and met Amanda’s watery gaze in the visage of their son.  He had to reassure him in a way that he was never able to reassure Amanda.  “Spockh-kan, sa-fu…Du nam-tor muhl eh ek’man’es.  Nash-veh ugau-tu.”  Spockh closed his eyes, the action causing a tear to slide down his discolored cheek.  Sarek released Spockh’s head and brought his first two fingers to touch his son’s forehead, just between his slanted eyebrows, in a kiss acceptable between parent and child. 

Sarek looked to T’Pring and nodded.  She brought her hands to the face of her cousin-by-marriage, easily locating his psi-points.  “Nahp, hif-bi tu throks.”  With those words, she initiated a mindmeld. 

Sarek heard his mother sigh beside him.  He looked to her.  “I pray to Kir-alep that both of these humans are honorable men.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“So, how exactly is your relationship with his father going to go?  I didn’t think you were the submissive type.” 

McCoy glared at Kirk before he recognized the teasing glint in his friend’s gaze.  “I’m not.  Who said I wanted anything physical with him?”

“Isn’t that the whole point?”

McCoy shook his head.  “No.  Not for me.  The point is—”

“Chekov to Keptin,” the communicator sitting on McCoy’s desk interrupted. 

Kirk picked it up and activated it.  “Kirk here, Chekov.  What is it?”

“Lieutenant Commander Mitchell is in the agony booth.  I have alerted your guards Wolfe and Farrell to stand watch over his sentence, but they told me they do not take orders from me and have not arrived.”

McCoy and Kirk could hear the mild frustration in Chekov’s voice.  He usually forgot that being Kirk’s close friend only got him so far.  Kirk grinned.  “I’ll handle it.  Stay there until they arrive, then report to me in McCoy’s office.  Kirk out.”  He disengaged from Chekov’s link, then reactivated it.  “Kirk to Farrell.”

A deep voice replied.  “Farrell here, Captain.”

“Mister Farrell, take Wolfe with you and stand guard over Mitchell during his time in the agony booth.  I’ll stop by later to release him.”

“Understood, Captain.  Farrell out.”

Kirk ended the communication and replaced the communicator on the desk.  He stared at his best friend.  “Now, where were we?”  His grin grew as he remembered.  “Oh, right.  Who’s going to be on top between you and my virgin’s father.”

McCoy evaded the bait.  “Can’t call him a virgin for much longer, though, can you?”

Jim chuckled, and smiled to himself.  “I hope he’s worth all this trouble.”

The doctor nodded in agreement.  “I don’t think you’ve ever worked this hard to bed anyone.  What’s got you so hooked on this Vulcan?”

Jim seemed lost in thought for a long time.  Then, he looked up at his friend.  “I don’t know.  I just know I have to have him.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Chekov watched as Gary Mitchell tried valiantly to keep silent under the torturous effects of the agony booth.  Gary had even managed to muster up a glare or two in Chekov’s direction while experiencing that amount of pain.  The younger man was almost impressed – but not quite.  He may be younger than Mitchell, but Gary had not experienced real pain and misery and desperation the way that Pavel Chekov had. 

Gary Mitchell had never been on Tarsus IV. 

All too soon, it seemed, Wolfe and Farrell arrived.  Farrell looked at Chekov as though he were one of the women on the ship – insignificant, subservient, and completely without the guts to back up their words, with the exception of a certain fierce communications officer.  Chekov stared right back at him.  He’d seen more terrifying things than Farrell.  Far more terrifying. 

“I see you have reported to stand guard,” the young Russian quipped.

Farrell’s glare turned even meaner.  “You can tell your master we’re here.  Go curl up at his feet like his little bitch.”

Many times Chekov had risen to this bait, but he was in no mood to do so today.  He was no one’s bitch, not now and he never planned to be.  Instead, without breaking eye contact, Chekov lifted his communicator.  “Chekov to Keptin.” 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“Does that kid ever shut up?”

Kirk almost truly smiled at McCoy.  “He’s doing his job, Bones.”  He hit his own communicator.  “What is it, Chekov?”

“They have arrived.  I am reporting to my station again.” 

Suddenly, a thought hit him.  “No.  I want you to return here for a moment.”  He met McCoy’s gaze, a devious smile spreading on his face when he saw his friend’s confusion.  Kirk continued.  “First, your new status on my ship.  I’ve made you the new tactical officer, transporter chief, and given you the order of second officer.”

There was silence for a moment over their frequency.  Then, Chekov asked, “And who is our new first?”

Kirk sighed.  “To be determined.  Get back to McCoy’s office…Now.”  He cut their frequency, a satisfied and scheming smile on his lips. 

It was an expression that did not go unnoticed by his closest friend.  “What the hell are you up to?”

The answer was simple.  “I plan to give him a war prize for hauling Mitchell away from what’s mine.  In fact,” he continued, as he stood from the chair and nearly strutted to the office door.  “I’ll even help him pick one.  A pretty one, too.” 

McCoy suddenly had a sinking feeling about this.  Whatever dread he felt, he followed Kirk from the office and into the bay filled with captive Vulcans, two of whom were already spoken for by himself and his friend. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura both loved and hated that she was one of two women on the bridge on this entire ship.  She loved it because it proved to those superiority-complex-wielding _male_ officers that her only use wasn’t a good fuck when things got tense around the ship.  She was quite skilled, could defend herself – and had on several occasions – and had no problem in letting everyone know about it.  She did not climb the ranks by spreading her legs.  She climbed the ranks by doing her job well, and proving herself as a fighter in a universe populated by overly testosterone-charged men.  However, being one of the only women on the bridge who actually had a respected job from her colleagues, it meant that she could never let her guard down.  If that ever happened, she would be assaulted, raped, or killed.  And she had already survived the first two encounters.  She knew the signs.  She knew what to look for, what to listen for.  She was as skilled in deciphering the not-so-obvious threatening behaviors and body languages of potential predators and attackers as she was in deciphering alien languages that no one else ever would have a hope of understanding.

It also happened that she had a happy talent for listening in on the conversations of nearly everyone on the ship that used a communicator.  Uhura had written a program to intercept all of these communications.  She knew what was going on within the ship at almost all times.  Sometimes, she knew what was going on before even the captain and his first and second officers.  She knew when crew members were conspiring to murder someone, to assault someone, to teach someone some humility.  And – like everyone else in the Empire – if she was considered a friend to anyone being threatened, whether they were aware of that threat or not, she would choose whether or not to inform them or to let things simply happen. 

Sometimes it seemed she knew more about things happening on the ship than its captain.  If only the captain were aware of how much she knew.  Perhaps she would have been dead long ago. 

“—second officer.”

“And who is our new first?”   

Uhura boosted the audio in her earpiece.  Chekov?  Second officer?  Her eyebrow flicked up in peeked interest.  Some people won’t like that one bit. 

“To be determined.”

Well, that was certainly interesting.  Kirk had chosen his second officer, but left his options open for executive officer? 

“Let me guess,” purred a familiar voice next to her chair.  “One of the Vulcans is planning to poison McCoy and lead a revolution to take our ship.”

Uhura snorted at the man that had wandered from his station.  “As if they could.” 

He grabbed the back of her chair and spun her to face him fully.  One sword-callused hand cupped her cheek.  “He won’t stay captain long, you know.  He’s not right for it.  One of these days, Uhura, Kirk’s going to bite off more than he can chew and he’ll find himself dead in his bed.”

Uhura swatted Sulu’s hand away from her cheek.  “He’s not stupid enough to get murdered while he slept.”

“Oh, you don’t think so?”  He leaned forward and put his hands on her console on either side of her chair, trapping her at her station.  She disliked when he did this.  “Then how stupid is he?”

She answered him with a serious expression, and just the right words to get his attention.  “Stupid enough to promote a second officer, but leave first officer open for the taking.”

The smile that her comment earned her was one of intrigued delight.  “Really?” 

She lowered her voice to a whisper.  “And you want it, don’t you, Sulu?”

Sulu leaned into her, his voice lowering huskily.  “Who wouldn’t want it?”

Uhura ran her hands slowly down his arms.  “Everyone wants it.”  She leaned in close to him, so that she could feel his exhale on her lips.  “And do you know how to get it?”  What many people didn’t know about Uhura was that she was fast, deadly fast.  Before Sulu could even think of a one-word response, she had him on his back pinned to the deck, with her heeled boot pressed onto one wrist, the other held tightly in her hand, and her boot dagger at his throat.  “You kill for it.” 

The bridge was silent as they all watched the exchange.  Everyone’s attention was on Uhura. 

And as she held down a man in front of his fellow shipmates, she proceeded to wound his male pride.  “It’s too bad you don’t have the stomach for murder.”  She teasingly nicked him along his lower jaw, just enough to draw blood, but not enough to seriously injure.  “Perhaps you haven’t found the motivation yet.”  He glared at her like he was trying to use his gaze to kill her through willpower.  “You want that position?  Then learn how to act like the captain’s bitch.”  She released him.

As Sulu got to his feet, he swore he heard some of the men chuckling.  He felt his motivation growing, and also his ambition. But not for the position of first officer. 

For the captaincy.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Many of the Vulcans in the Sickbay were either too mentally traumatized or too frightened to walk about the large room.  They mainly took to huddling in small groups, trying to tuck the youngest captives behind or among them in whatever corner they managed to fit themselves.  However, the two that he and McCoy had claimed as their own seemed not to fear their surroundings as much as the others.  They were folded into each other in the open center of the floor, the elder male – and McCoy’s choice for some reason! – cradling the vulnerable younger male to his chest protectively.  Looking at the two of them, Kirk could see the family resemblance, even through the blood and bruises on the boy’s face.  The old female, however, was new.  As was the younger female with them.  Her features were not as soft as Kirk typically appreciated in feminine beauty, but he could admit that she was exquisite.  If he hadn’t set his attention on one of them already, and a male at that, he would certainly have chosen her. 

Yes, she would do.  She would do very nicely. 

He saw this odd little group tense as he approached them.  He stopped right in front of them, his boots nearly touching the young male.  The younger female was doing something to him with her hands.  They were pressed to his face in an odd-looking configuration that surprisingly made Kirk pause.  What was she doing? 

“She is stabilizing his mind,” said the elder female. 

Kirk realized that he’d asked his question out loud.  Well, he wouldn’t show that that was an accident.  “Why?”

The Vulcan woman looked at him like he was incredibly stupid.  “Our homeworld has been destroyed.  A Vulcan experiences pain when one of our people dies.” 

Kirk looked to his bleeding virgin.  His features looked much more peaceful than earlier despite the obvious injuries to him.  But he was no longer trembling.  He was no longer nearly hyperventilating.  He was rather peaceful.  And strikingly beautiful.  

“Does that happen when anyone dies of your species or just people you’re close to, like a family member?”  This time, the question came from McCoy.  He was clearly interested in a medical way. 

The response was quiet.  And it came from the father of Kirk’s chosen prize.  “In this instance, this has occurred due to the death of his mother, and—”  Sarek choked a little on his own voice.  “My bondmate.”

Kirk was about to speak again, when the doors to the room slid aside to admit Pavel Chekov.  He smiled at his much younger friend in greeting.  “Come here, Chekov.”  The Russian obeyed and was at his captain’s side with surprising speed.  “I think you deserve a little reward for removing Mitchell.  What do you think?”

Chekov did not answer verbally right away.  He knew what Kirk had in mind for himself.  Why else would he have had the young male Vulcan in his quarters if he had only planned to speak with him?  Could he possibly have the same thing?  He let his gaze wander to the female that had just opened her eyes to discover the three human men standing above them.  “Her,” Chekov declared firmly. 

She stood with a grace that surpassed Nyota Uhura’s cat-like slink.  She gazed at Chekov challengingly.  However, while Chekov and this Vulcan woman stared at each other, Kirk’s focus was on the trio still huddled on the floor.  His Vulcan’s gaze was darting from the female to his father, to the older woman, and finally to Kirk.  His father’s attention was riveted to the young female, and if Kirk had to describe the expression, he would have used the word worriedly.  The older female on the other hand looked livid.  Kirk decided to test them all further.  “She’s yours.  Do what you want with her.  Hopefully, you have less of a challenge than I’ve had with mine.”

By then, all of the Vulcans in their little group understood.  Chekov smiled to himself as he stepped forward to reach for her.  But she retreated two steps away from him and out of his reach.  Chekov’s smile vanished.  “Come here, Vulcan.” 

As if to emphasize her refusal, she took another full step backward.  Her eyes never left the Russian’s. 

But Kirk was not so patient.  He lashed out and grabbed her by her upper arm, to stall her flight, and bring her focus to him.  “You’ll do as he says.  You belong to him, now, do you understand?” 

Her dark eyes did not waver.  “I belong to adun t’nash-veh,” she spat at him.  “Not to this qom’i-kan.” 

Kirk did not dare remove his gaze from her, this suddenly formidable Vulcan woman.  “What did she say?”

A new voice spoke up.  “She said she belongs to me, her mate, and not to a human child.”  This Vulcan came to stand behind the female Kirk had by the arm.  “Remove your hand from her or have it removed.”

He admitted that this Vulcan had some courage.  But that would not do for the other captives to see.  “Is that so?” he growled.  Kirk jerked the woman’s arm toward him and the movement launched her away from the Vulcan male.  In the same movement, Kirk had his dagger at the Vulcan’s throat and had the male’s body pressed against the wall behind him.  “I could just remove you from my ship instead.”

“I would make it exceedingly difficult for you to achieve.”

Kirk laughed.  “Brave for someone who’s got a knife at his throat.”  He chuckled.  “Mates, you said.”  He teasingly ran the tip of the blade along the Vulcan’s jaw.  “That’s too bad.  Someone like you might have made an excellent security guard.”

An eyebrow rose.  “I suppose you will never know.”

This Vulcan intrigued Kirk.  He brought the blade back to the base of the Vulcan’s throat.  “I guess not.”  His arm tensed as he was about to pierce the Vulcan’s pulsing neck.

 “She is in the midst of her gestation period.”

That sentence from the elder female got Kirk’s attention. 

McCoy was already nearing his limit of patience.  “What the hell are you trying to say, woman?  That she’s pregnant?”

“She speaks the truth,” confirmed the Vulcan Kirk had against the wall.  “My mate has only just begun the process.” 

“And that matters why?” hissed McCoy. 

The answer came surprisingly from Sarek.  “In our species, doctor, in order for the offspring to thrive within the mother’s womb, a stable bond between the mates that created it must exist.  It must remain intact.  Without a stable bond, the gestating female will suffer its absence.  Many females who experience the loss of their mate while gestating follow their mate into death.”

“How often?”  McCoy was suddenly interested in this topic. 

“Ninety-eight point eight four percent of cases have ended with the female’s death, and consequently that of the unborn’s death, should her bondmate perish during the period of her gestation.” 

Kirk tightened his grip of the Vulcan.  “That’s not a guarantee that she’ll die if I slit his throat.”  Just for emphasis, he pressed the blade a little harder against what he assumed to be a vital artery.  He was reluctantly impressed that the Vulcan didn’t even flinch. 

“Please, captain, don’t!” cried his young captive.

“What about the other two percent?” asked McCoy. 

Sarek sighed.  “In the rare instance that an unbonded male is willing to enter into the bonds of kal’i’farr—”  He hurriedly translated at McCoy’s frustrated glare.  “Marriage, he may be able to prevent the female’s succumbing to death.” 

“You mean he’d stabilize her.”  Something suddenly made a bit more sense to McCoy.  And he knew that Sarek knew that, too. 

“Affirmative.”

Kirk was beyond caring about the social and interpersonal customs of Vulcans.  “Okay, so Chekov will stabilize her.”  He brought his attention back to the Vulcan he held captive.  “Don’t worry.  She won’t even notice you’re gone once he’s done with her.”

Suddenly, Kirk’s blade was no longer in his hand.  It had been knocked out of his grip and had slid across the floor.  But he did not look to see where it had gone.  Instead, he stared at the tiny Vulcan girl that dared to disarm him.  “Kroykah!” she screamed.  When her eyes met his, Kirk realized that she had surprised herself with her actions.  She shook herself from her own shock and ran to Chekov, before she flung herself to the floor at his feet.  “Do not harm them.  I offer myself to you in the place of my sister-by-marriage.” 

Chekov wasn’t sure what to do.  He looked down at this tiny female, then to the darker one, and lastly to his friend and captain. 

But Kirk wasn’t looking at Chekov or even the girl at his feet.  Instead, his attention was on the dark-haired female.  But he wasn’t seeing the Vulcan woman at all. 

 

_She was human.  She was older but not as old as some of the others._

_They were being separated, the men from the women._

_And the children from the adults._

_The little boy he’d met weeks ago at the shuttle ports was holding a woman’s hand.  Mother and son.  A man was right behind them.  The father. The husband._

_Then they reached the line of guards, where the separations began._

_The woman began screaming as her husband was shoved away from her.  She reached for him, and he for her.  But the men in uniforms, they pushed them apart._

_And one of them picked up the boy, forcing his hand out of his mother’s.  “Mama!”_

_She threw herself after her child, screaming for him.  Two guards got in her way.  She tried to force her way._

_They threw her to the ground._

_He heard the sound of their fists, her screams._

_He saw her husband break free of the guards restraining him.  He never reached her.  He was hit with the phaser before he even realized it._

_“Papa!”_

_The boy began to run to his parents, toward the guards._

_He couldn’t let that happen._

_“Mama!”_

_He scooped the boy up in his arms and carried him away. “I got you,” he tried to shout over the screams, the beating, the phasers.  “I got you.”_

_“Pa—”_

_The phaser silenced her forever._

_But with one hand pressing the boy’s head to his chest as he shouted at him, Pavel Chekov did not hear the phaser that murdered his mother.  But James T. Kirk did._

Why did that memory have to strike now?  Why here?  Kirk rounded on the Vulcan male.  “You have your life.  What’s left of it, anyways.”  He used his free hand to punch the Vulcan in the jaw, sending him to the deck. 

He was surprised when the Vulcan spoke.  “I thank thee, captain.”  Kirk couldn’t help but stare at him confusedly.  His immobility gave the Vulcan time to clasp his hand around his wrist.  His instinct was to beat him senseless, but he was held back by someone grabbing his free arm by the elbow.  It was McCoy’s Vulcan.  Bones stood directly behind him, and the look he gave him told him that he would be alright.  The younger male continued to speak.  “In return for your pardon, I, Stonn, sa-fu t’Soryk, swear my life to protect yours and all that you come to hold dear, until death comes for me, or you release me from this vow.” 

Kirk realized what was happening.  He’d been sworn a life-debt.  He wondered how he could twist this to his extreme advantage.  But then he caught the shift in Stonn’s gaze as it left his own.  He followed Stonn’s gaze to the young male he had claimed for himself.  He saw an unusual amount of sadness in his Vulcan’s eyes.  Kirk suddenly wondered what this Stonn was planning by this move.  He didn’t like it.  And he certainly was not about to trust it. 

He yanked his arm free from Stonn’s grip, surprised when Stonn let him go without even trying to maintain the grip.  Once he was freed, he found that McCoy’s Vulcan also let him go.  He shouldered his way past him and stormed toward the oldest female, the one who seemed to have authority over this little group for some reason.  He was not gentle when he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back.  He leaned down into her.  “Explain what just happened.”

“Stonn has given his life to you and all those closest to you.  His fate is now determined by your orders.  Not to have done this would shame all of his clan.”

Kirk turned to look at Stonn.  His mate, the dark-haired woman, had gone to him and was running her fingers over his.  They were quietly speaking to each other.  Then, he seemed to remember the nervy little female.  “And what about her?” he jerked his head toward the female who remained at Chekov’s feet.  Only now Chekov had crouched down closer to her.  He had cupped her cheek and looked at her.  Kirk realized that Chekov was admiring her – not just physically.  She was pretty in an alien and young sort of way.  She was actually a better match visually for Chekov than the pregnant female, but he was not about to admit that to anyone.  But Chekov was not admiring her beauty.  He was admiring her courage.  Kirk found he could not exactly disagree with Chekov’s silent assessment. 

“She is Stonn’s younger sister.  She has offered herself in T’Pring’s place.” Kirk understood that already.  Clearly this old woman thought he was stupid to have not followed that.  He yanked on her hair hard, pleased at the gasp it brought from her throat.  “You have demanded that he bonds with one of our females.  That cannot be done without ensuring their compatibility.  I must test them for this.”

Kirk was uncertain what she was talking about.  He unconsciously loosened his grip as he tried to make sense of it.  McCoy, however, was not afraid to ask questions.  “I don’t understand.  Test who for what?  Her or him?”

Sarek answered his soon-to-be mate.  “She must test them both.  With our people, we establish a mental bond as well as a physical.”

McCoy turned to Sarek.  “But not all humans have any kind of telepathic ability, so isn’t that pointless?”

“It is not pointless.  My mate was nearly completely psi-null but she was quite mentally compatible with me.  I would not have been capable of bonding with her had she been mentally at odds with my mind.”

McCoy looked at him suspiciously.  “But you’ve already agreed to our arrangement.  That’s going to happen whether or not our minds think alike, you know.  The same thing goes for your kid.”

Kirk latched onto their discussion.  He asked the elder woman, “How do you make sure they can bond?”

“I must have their thoughts.”

He didn’t trust her.  “You mean control his mind.”

“Not mind control, captain.  Simply reading it.  I believe those who possess what you would call a remarkably high ESPer rating can achieve the same level of mind connection to which I refer.” 

Kirk stared at her for a long time.  Surprisingly, he released his hold on her hair, but he stopped to pick up his fallen dagger.  “If you hurt him, you die.  Understand?”

She did not respond verbally, only met his eyes in a clear challenge.  She had seen him spare her grandson’s life, she doubted he would kill her.  “T’Kyi’i, nash-veh betau.” 

The petite Vulcan girl, T’Kyi’i, rose to her feet.  She hesitated for only a moment as she truly looked at Pavel Chekov for the first time.  Her gaze wandered from his face, to his physical stature, his posture, everything.  Kirk was willing to bet she knew his rank just by looking at his sleeves, and that he favored his left leg when standing still.  She seemed unusually perceptive.  He wondered if all Vulcans were like this.  Maybe he had been underestimating them the entire time.  His gaze flicked to this matronly Vulcan for a second before focusing back on T’Kyi’i.  She was not nearly as graceful as T’Pring as she turned and walked toward this older woman. 

The elder looked to Chekov, piercing him with her eyes.  “Approach me, young man.”   Chekov obeyed the authority of her voice.  Kirk stayed at her side, his blade lowered but prepared to strike should she harm Chekov. 

When she next spoke, it was to Kirk.  “In order for me to perform this task, I must have the use of both of my hands.”  She held out her bound hands expectantly to him. 

He scoffed.  “You’re crazy if you think I’m releasing you.” 

“If you do not release my hands, I cannot look into their minds.  We will not know if they are compatible.  And if they are not, and they attempt to bond, your young friend will be injured within his mind.  He will never be the man you now know.”  She moved her hands closer to him.  “Release my hands, captain, or you will never achieve that which you seek in our captivity.”

He knew he was being manipulated and he did not like it.  Kirk looked at Chekov.  The young man had the look of determination.  He did not trust this Vulcan woman, but he trusted Chekov.  Before he could really think about this, Kirk deactivated her cuffs. 

She did not thank him.  She simply and quickly touched the fingers of one of her hands to T’Kyi’i’s face in a configuration Kirk had never seen before.  She did the same with her other hand to Chekov.  There was no mystical incantation that Kirk expected there would be.  The older woman just closed her eyes.  T’Kyi’i followed her example.  Before Chekov could do the same, his face was transformed by an expression of surprise and pain. 

Kirk charged instinctively, but even in their inhibited state, he was not quick enough to avoid the restraining hands of his Vulcan.  “No, captain.  You will damage them all if you—”  But the fight was still in him, and Kirk lashed out the hilt of his dagger colliding with the young Vulcan’s temple, dazing him.  He began to fall, but his grip was still firm on Kirk’s arm.  Kirk had no intention of going to the deck with him.  He grabbed a fistful of fabric at the Vulcan’s shoulder to hold him up.  They stared at each other hard. 

“Learn your place quickly, little Vulcan,” he growled. 

“I intend to.”

The elder woman spoke over anything Kirk was about to say.  “They are compatible for each other.”  Kirk looked at her.  “Would you like me to bond them?”

“Yes?” Chekov answered, the nervousness in his voice making it sound like a question more than a statement. 

“Very well,” said the elder female.  She closed her eyes and initiated contact with T’Kyi’i again.  She turned her head to Chekov, eyes still closed, in order to speak directly to him.  Her tone was remarkably soft.  “This will feel strange to you.  You will become aware of another in your head.  This is normal when one is bonded.  Do not fear.”

His voice trembled but he did his best to keep it steady.  “I am not afraid.”

“Yes, you are, little human.  I will attempt to bond you gently.”

Chekov closed his eyes.  “Thank you.”  For several long moments, the three of them did not move.  Abruptly in the silence, Chekov gasped before he suddenly went limp, his loss of consciousness causing him to break the connection between him and the older Vulcan woman.  T’Kyi’i was unaffected and disengaged from the joining smoothly and quickly enough to catch Chekov before he hit the deck. 

“Pavel!” cried Kirk, showing something other than his brusqueness for the first time in front of the Vulcans.  He barely noticed.  He only saw that his young friend was now unconscious because of something a Vulcan had done to him. 

He pushed his Vulcan away from him, uncaring of what happened to him at the moment.  He knelt beside Chekov, feeling for his pulse.  It was strong.  “What did you do?” he said to T’Kyi’i through clenched teeth. 

Her bright green eyes looked at him nervously.  “We have been bonded.  I have not heard of a mate losing consciousness before.  I assure you that I am as alarmed by this as you are.”

Kirk couldn’t explain it.  Perhaps it was the bright innocence in this Vulcan female’s eyes that reminded him of Chekov’s that made him believe her.  “Will he be alright?”  He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, the worry.

The elder female gave the answer.  “He will recover fully and without incident.  It is a shock for an individual who is completely psi-null to be bonded to a member of a telepathic race.  Your young companion has no telepathic abilities.  He was overwhelmed by the experience.”

Kirk wasn’t watching her.  He was watching this young female next to him.  At her elder’s words, he saw the worry disappear from her eyes.  In its place he saw nothing but relief.  It was her reaction that made him believe that Chekov would be fine. 

“Uhura to Kirk,” came the impatient tone of his communications officer from his communicator at his waist. 

He activated it.  “Kirk here.”

“The crew is getting anxious for their promotions in light of the shift in command, sir.  You are an hour late in announcing your new orders.”

Kirk glared at the communicator like he was glaring at Uhura’s face instead.  “Last I checked, Lieutenant,” he stressed her rank deliberately, “I don’t report to you.  They’ll get their promotions when I decide.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, captain,” she stressed the title back to him. 

He flipped the communicator shut without another word.  He would never admit it to anyone but she had made a point.  He’d been wasting too much time chasing after this Vulcan.  He glared at the bloody, beaten, young male he’d chosen for his bed-companion.  If his captaincy was threatened just because this little one refused to accept his new position in life – underneath Kirk with his legs spread, a human spearing him open intimately – whether he wanted it or not…well, Kirk was not about to take resistance kindly anymore. 

“McCoy,” he said with deceptive calmness in his voice as he approached the trembling Vulcan.  “Apparently, I have a ship to run.  In the meantime, make sure Chekov’s okay.  Don’t let this little bitch leave his side.  I want to know when he wakes up and his condition.  But if he doesn’t wake up, kill her.” 

McCoy breathed deeply.  Kirk heard it without looking at him.  He was directly in front of his Vulcan.  “Also, re-cuff the old bat’s hands.  Just in case she lied about Chekov being fine, I don’t need her going around killing everyone by touching them with her hands and controlling their minds.” 

He reached out and cupped the bruised and blood-caked cheek in front of him, almost pleased at the flinch his action caused.  “As for this one,” he thought aloud.  He turned his head with his hand to see his profile.  “This one I want cleaned up.  Heal his bruises and get rid of the cuts.”  He brought the alien’s face back to look at him straight on.  He grinned at the shaking young Vulcan.  “I want him to be pretty when I take him.”  He reached out and framed his face.  “And I will take you, little one.  You’ve gotten away from me twice today.  You won’t a third time.” 

He ran his thumb along the swollen lower lip, watching in fascination as his movement smeared the Vulcan’s green blood across the lip like a seductive gloss women sometimes used.  Some of it stayed on his thumb.  “So, you’ll do whatever McCoy tells you, won’t you?  You’ll let him run whatever procedures he needs to, and you’ll answer whatever questions he asks.  If he needs to touch you, he will.  And you’re going to let him.  He’s going to get you ready for me.  And he’ll be much gentler than I would be.” 

The Vulcan spoke in a nearly silent whisper.  “And if I do not comply?”

Kirk chuckled through his nose as his lips stretched into a small smile.  “Well, my little pet, if you don’t do what he says…and then afterwards what I say...”  He brought his hand up into the Vulcan’s eyesight.  It was stained with green from his injuries.  “…then this blood will be your father’s.” 

He gasped as he understood the meaning.  He lowered his head, his breath coming short.  Kirk touched his chin with one of the bloody fingers and tilted his head back up to look him in the eyes.  “So, you know what you have to do.”

He swallowed.  “Affirmative.”

Kirk nodded.  “And what is that?”

He sobbed for a reason he could not name.  “Obey.”

Kirk smiled.  “See?  It’s not so hard, is it, when the right motivation is there.”  He curled one of his hands around the nape of his neck and pulled him closer.  Then, with movements mocking the tenderness between lovers, Kirk brought their lips together.  With their lips still touching, but no longer exactly kissing, Kirk whispered so quietly that only the Vulcan could hear him.  His voice lacked the gentleness that only moments ago his touch had had.  “Until tonight, my little Vulcan.” 


	6. A Change in Course, A Kindness

The turbolift doors parted and Kirk entered the bridge.  He was simultaneously surprised and relieved to see that no one had dared to sit in the captain’s chair.  Everyone remained at their stations, but all of them had glanced for a second toward the newcomer.  When they noticed it was their newly declared captain, they returned their attention to their tasks, most likely anticipating a promotion by being diligent in their work.  Too bad they didn’t realize that he’d already decided on the promotions long before stepping onto the bridge at that moment. 

Only one person had the nerve to keep glaring at him.  And that person was Lieutenant Nyota Uhura.  At least she gave him somewhere to start.

“Lieutenant, how were things on the bridge while I was gone?”

She stared at him as though he were an alien that was butchering his own native language.  “Restless, _Captain._ Now that you’ve finally arrived, are you going to share your promotions list?” 

She’d always tended to stress his rank whenever it was higher than hers.  That had started when he was promoted before her, despite her longer time in the Academy.  She just could not handle that.  She’d credited it to his father playing favorites, and had proceeded to spread that nasty rumor until Captain Pike had publicly demoted her in one of her classes from lieutenant commander back to simply lieutenant.  Kirk could not resist then stressing her lowered rank to her face.  It had begun a twisted spar between them. It always made him remember she was not afraid to use her mouth for something other than sucking a superior’s dick to work up the ranks, like so many other women in the Empire.  She could cut with her words as well as others did with blades.  She wasn’t bad with her dagger either. 

Kirk allowed a grin to slowly spread on his face.  “Now’s as good a time as any, isn’t it, _Lieutenant_?”

Uhura tilted her head in mock sweetness.  “And we’ve all been curious what you’ve been doing for so long with all those pointy-eared green-skinned aliens we brought on board?”

Kirk turned from her and made his way to his chair, lowering himself into it for only the second time since Pike gave command over to him.  He relished the feel of this seat, knowing that he now was the master of this vessel.  He looked up and saw that Hikaru Sulu had turned in his seat and was gazing at him intently.  His reply to Uhura’s half-suggestive question was directed to Sulu.  “Playing.”  Sulu grinned at his new captain, before swiveling back to face the viewscreen. 

Kirk spun his chair to face Uhura.  “And while these Vulcans are green, Orions are far more brilliantly so.  I guess I just like the color green.”  He knew the comment stung her enough when she suddenly turned back to her station.  Her closest friend and ironically a captain’s woman in her own right, Gaila, had been killed aboard one of the other ships that had arrived at Vulcan before the Enterprise.  It had been destroyed, and Gaila, the very sexy Orion female, along with it.  He found it disappointing that their former sessions would never occur again, but he now had a Vulcan to ensnare in her place.  And he had learned plenty of things from her regarding alien sex.  The best lesson she could have ever taught him was to never get too comfortable, and be prepared for almost anything.  There had been several instances when he’d ended up playing submissive to her whims, especially when her irresistible pheromones spiked and she gained the upper hand in more ways than one.  She was only playing with him, however, and always let him win in the end.  In return, he had been very good to her.  Better than her captain had been, that was for certain.    

Yes, he would miss her just a little.  He smiled to himself as he remembered when Captain Jerrod discovered that Kirk and Gaila had an arrangement in addition to her being his woman.  He knew Pike had something to do with why he was still alive for that offense. 

The navigator, Kevin Reilly, another of Kirk’s young friends from his youth, turned in his chair.  “Chekov told me you picked one out for yourself.  When do we all get one?”

Kirk openly smiled at Kevin.  “After I give mine a complete test drive.”

“Into your bunk, I’ll bet,” Sulu muttered just loud enough for everyone close enough to hear him.

Kirk’s smile shifted to a lecherous smirk.  “And anywhere else I force it to happen.  You know how creative I am with this.”

“At least someone will have a good night.”

Feigning sympathy, Kirk clicked his tongue.  “Aw, Sulu, you should have mentioned you were lonely.  There are plenty of Vulcans to pick from, you know.” 

Sulu shook his head, disgust clear on his face.  “I don’t want a Vulcan freak.”

“Ooh, careful, now.  You’re insulting my taste.”  The comment earned him a glare from Sulu. 

“I thought your taste was closer to that of the dark-haired, soft-spoken, brown-eyed—” put in Uhura from her place, still facing her console.  The description brought the image of his bloody Vulcan he’d left in Sickbay to his mind.  Kirk was beginning to get anxious for the end of shift when he could tear the loose clothing from his new captive’s trembling body.  “—busty, human type, _Captain._ ”  The image of the Vulcan vanished as another took his place in his head.

Marlena Moreau.  His woman.  How could he have forgotten her?

He wasn’t about to admit to Uhura of all people that he’d forgotten all about the science lieutenant that he’d had screaming in ecstasy as he pounded into her for the past several months.  The realization that it only took one vulnerable Vulcan male to make him completely forget about her momentarily left him speechless. 

But he did have an answer to Uhura’s reminder.  He punched the comm. unit on the arm of his command chair.  “Kirk to Wolfe.”

“Wolfe, here, sir.”

“Marlena Moreau is no longer my woman.  Get any and all of her things out of my quarters before I return.”

“At once, Captain.  Wolfe out.”

Kirk inhaled deeply, scowling to himself.  He was completely aware of the potential danger he had just brought onto himself by spurning Moreau.  This impulsive action made him question himself again and his inability to resist this Vulcan.  He asked himself the same questions Bones asked him twice since they’d brought the Vulcans on board.  What is it about this scared Vulcan that drew Kirk so strongly to him?  Why was he abandoning certain things that made him secure all for the sake of a prisoner of war?  He did not know.  He set his jaw.  That Vulcan had better be worth all of this inconvenience. 

“You’re ditching Marlena, _Captain_?” snapped Uhura from her station.

Kirk swung his chair to face her.  “Replacing her.”

“Usually when captains replace their whores they kill the one being replaced.  Like officer advancement.”  She grinned tightly at him. 

He grinned right back.  “Maybe I’d rather her be disgraced than dead.  If I killed everyone I was removing from their positions, I wouldn’t have a crew to captain, now, would I?”  He looked her over from high ponytail to her heeled boots.  “But you know you’re safe, for now, right?  You are too valuable on this ship and everyone knows it.  It’s good for you that you have the most talented tongue in the Empire.  Ever use it in the bedroom?”

She shook her head, having played this game with him many times before.  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I do.”

A small laugh escaped.  “Well, you never will.”

Kirk pretended that her evasion offended him.  “I’m sure the only male that could probably take you on well enough would be a Klingon warlord.”  He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially to her.  He knew she understood the compliment he’d given her at her barely perceptible nod. 

“And what about Marlena if you won’t kill her?  She’ll ask for a transfer.”

Kirk shook her head.  “No, she won’t.  She’ll stay put on this ship.  She knows it’s the best ship in the fleet.”  He snorted to himself.  “Besides, she’ll have no trouble getting someone with a decent rank to stick their cock in her.  She’ll latch on to the first crewman with authority who’ll take her.”

Uhura bristled a little at his phrasing.  Kirk knew exactly why.  He’d been there to help her after her first rape.  He’d killed her rapist in front of her just after he’d gotten off of her bloody body.  He snapped his neck before the man had even put his clothing back in order.  And when he’d stood over Uhura, he saw the fierceness in her in her struggle to stand, her determination to stop shaking.  He hadn’t said anything to her.  He’d simply gone to her, scooped her up in his arms, and took her to McCoy, who fixed her physical injuries and continued to keep an eye on her.  Kirk looked after some of his crew members – but only those he found irreplaceably valuable – and tried to take care of them.  But he could not acknowledge her tightly concealed vulnerability at his choice of words, not on the bridge. 

“Any decision yet on your new first officer, sir?” asked Sulu, still facing forward. 

“I have some people in mind,” he replied sharply.  “You’re my new security chief.”  Sulu made a face at the statement.  Kirk did not fail to notice it.  “Is that a problem?”

“No, sir.”

Kirk nodded satisfactorily.  “But not what you were hoping for.”  It was not a question.  Sulu didn’t respond to the bait.  “Come on, Sulu, don’t be shy.” 

When he opened his mouth to reply, his console began furiously beeping.  Sulu turned to look at the read out.  “Captain, we’re no longer following Nero’s ship.”

Kirk launched himself out of the command chair and leaned forward to look at the readings from Sulu’s station.  “Why not?”

Sulu pointed to one section of his display.  Kirk understood.  “Alter course and follow him.”  When Sulu did not immediately take action, Kirk barked, “Now!”  Sulu reacted instantly. 

Kirk turned back and lowered himself into his center chair, thinking of only one thing:  ‘Why would Nero change course?’

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

“The Romulan has changed course, Empress,” he announced after his admittance into her chambers.  She was lounging on her large and luxurious bed.  Very few people in the palace were permitted entrance to these rooms, and he was one of the two that were.  He did not forget that fact. 

She slowly stretched her neck, rolling her head side to side as she almost lazily spoke.  “Where is he heading now?”

“As of now, unknown, Empress.”

She stopped stretching immediately, and pierced her advisor and confidante with her cold, dark eyes.  “And you’ve interrupted me without anything else to report?  Only that the Romulan ship is no longer coming to Terra, but has moved to… _somewhere else_?   Without even having any idea where that might be?”

He realized now that this was a bad idea.  “Y-yes, Empress.”

Her expression somehow became decidedly unimpressed.  “Leave me.  And only return when you have something useful to report.”

He bowed immediately.  “As you command, Empress.”  With a sharp turn, he exited the chambers, no longer wishing to remain in the Empress’s displeased company. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Once he’d gotten Chekov on a biobed, he’d had M’Benga and Chapel get his readings started, keeping a close eye on T’Kyi’i while monitoring the teenaged ensign.  McCoy, meanwhile, had someone else to handle.  He turned to Kirk’s Vulcan.   “Alright, kid, I need you to get up on the bed and lie down.”  McCoy would never say it aloud, but he was beginning to feel just a little sorry for this young Vulcan male.  Granted, there were far worse officers that could have made this innocent youth their prey and he could certainly do much worse and much more dangerous than Jim Kirk, but his friend’s actions were definitely not giving that indication.  

This bloody, trembling Vulcan was terrified of Kirk. 

He clutched onto his father’s elbow as though fearing that letting it go would leave him utterly alone in a world that had fallen completely apart.  With a start, McCoy realized that this Vulcan’s world _had_ fallen apart – literally.   He had probably seen the planet collapsing before he’d been beamed aboard, finding himself in an environment he did not know, around people who have so far only beaten him bloody, and a captain that had not only nearly raped him in public, but also announced his intention to take his virginity – forcibly if the Vulcan resisted.  A stab of sympathy hit McCoy for an instant. 

He shook his head, refusing to look soft in front of these two.  He reached out and grabbed the Vulcan’s arm.  “Get over here,” he snapped, hauling him away from his father and shoving him forcibly toward the nearest biobed. 

His future…spouse – the word made McCoy shake his head in near disbelief at what he’d agreed to – stepped forward.  “Doctor, please, may we have privacy for this?  Surely a full examination in the view of so many is a gross violation.” 

McCoy glared at Sarek.  Distantly, he heard Sarek’s son nearly hyperventilating on the biobed’s surface.  With a huff and an eyeroll, McCoy grabbed his upper arm again and yanked him to his feet.  “Come on,” he barked.  He dragged the bound youth to a set of doors, keyed in a code, and then dragged him into a private examination suite.  He did not even need to look back to know that Sarek had followed them closely. 

He typically only used this for Jim – or Pike – mainly to ensure they were not assassinated by members of his medical staff when he was not on duty.  He was their attending, and he would be the only one with access to them when they were injured, even if he lost a little sleep during the treatment.  There was a tiny little bathroom, a desk, a chair, a replicator, and a very small sofa in the room.  He never left this suite if either Kirk or Pike were being treated here.  And he did not have to.  It was well stocked with medical supplies and with various items for his entertainment.

 “I thank thee, Doctor.”  McCoy tried not to groan at the politeness of the older male.  Fleetingly, he thought of his dead wife, shuddering.  He’d take this Vulcan’s politeness over her attitude any day!

McCoy let go of the younger Vulcan’s arm, and turned away to gather what he needed for his examination.  “I need you to strip.  The captain wants you cleaned up, which means I get to heal every single bruise and cut on your body.  Which means I have to _see_ every bruise and cut on your body.  And I know Mitchell did a number on you earlier, so it’ll just be faster if you strip and get on the bed.”  He’d activated his tricorder and was getting his dermal regenerator and an old-fashioned cleansing cloth for the blood.  When he didn’t hear the Vulcan moving, his patience began to lessen.  “I said strip, kid!”

The voice that replied was barely above a whisper, and the tone was incredibly unsteady.  “How can I unclothe myself when my hands remain bound?  I will be unable to remove my upper garments.”

McCoy turned sharply to him, regretting the quick movement as he saw the Vulcan flinch.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to get him out of the wrist bindings, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.  Only captains and executive officers knew how to deactivate those cuffs.  He deliberately tried to take the harshness out of his voice.  “Then, take off what you can.  I’ll work around your shirt.”

“I—I have never been so exposed before.”

McCoy snorted.  “Really?  Because I seem to remember the captain had your pants at your thighs a little while ago before I stopped him from screwing you where you stood bent over that biobed.”  He did not feel bad this time, when he began to shake more violently.  “You can thank your father for that.” 

The son looked quickly at his father before turning his attention back to him.  “Doctor, I thank thee for your intervention.” 

McCoy shook his head.  Jim wanted this one?  This youth could not possibly be in his right mind.  He seemed to be all over the place!  “I don’t care.  Just get your damn clothes off before I cut them off.” 

This seemed to motivate him.  He gingerly and deliberately removed each item of clothing starting from the bottom and working his way upward.  He hesitated at his trousers, his nervousness clear in the glance he shot towards McCoy, who just wanted to get this over and done with.  “I’m not interested.  I’ve seen enough people’s junk in my line of work that nothing you have under there can faze me, so just get your pants off, damnit.”

The Vulcan let them drop to the floor before he slowly stepped out of them.  The tunic he wore was barely long enough to cover his sexual organs, but McCoy had seen it briefly.  It seemed, at first glance, surprisingly human-like.  Odd and interesting that Vulcans and Humans were so similar in their penises.  At least Jim would know what to do with it, later, if he even decided to touch the kid there.  Knowing Jim, he wouldn’t even concern himself with the Vulcan’s pleasure and just get a good, hard ride out of him tonight.  But, then again, McCoy knew how Kirk played with his toys in bed.  He was possessive, but not completely selfish.  He liked to see them break with him. 

“Get up there on the bed.”  Spockh walked over and hauled himself onto the bed, gasping as his half-naked body contacted its surface. 

McCoy didn’t even notice that Sarek had moved until the older Vulcan approached his son with a blanket.  “What are you doing?” he barked. 

“This is not to preserve his dignity, Doctor.”  Sarek met McCoy’s eyes without fear or hesitation.  “The temperature aboard this vessel is substantially lower than the average temperature of our former homeworld.”  Sarek draped the blanket over his son’s lower body, making sure to tuck the edges underneath his legs to put something between skin and surface.  “He is cold.  And without his clothing, he has been denied even that small insulation.  Just as you have proposed to work around his tunic, I am certain that examining and treating him around a heavy piece of fabric will not be such a difficult challenge.” 

McCoy stared at Sarek for a long while, feeling the sting of the chastisement.  Finally, he nodded.  “Fine.”  He turned his attention to the younger one.  “Let’s start at your head and work our way down.” 

He turned on his medical tricorder and allowed it to hover over his patient.  It was going ballistic.  He looked at it in confusion, and then at the Vulcan, who could not seem to control his shaking.  “Hold still.” 

“I cannot.  I have been attempting to maintain a level of stillness, but it is escaping me.” 

“And speak normal, will you?”  McCoy held the tricorder to himself.  The sounds it produced were normal. 

“Normal vernacular to you is quite the opposite of what I consider to be normal, doctor,” quipped the reclined youth, his voice as unsteady as his body. 

McCoy was stumped when the tricorder shrieked as he held it over the Vulcan again, but did not want to say anything out loud.  His expression must have given it away, however.  Sarek noticed.  “Perhaps your medical equipment is not accustomed to Vulcan physiology?”

He glared at his – good, God! – husband?  Fiancé?  What _was_ Sarek to him right now?  He didn’t want to think about it.  “And I suppose this is where you give me a helpful suggestion?”

Sarek raised one eyebrow.  It seemed one of them was getting used to their situation much faster than the other.  “As opposed to an unhelpful one?”  Sarek shook his head slowly, indulging McCoy in his sarcasm.  It was a trait this man shared with his former bondmate.  He was familiar with handling this human trait at least.  “My niece-by-marriage, T’Pring, the female your captain attempted to gift to his young crewmember, is a mental healer among my people.  She was also trained as a physician.  She will be able to assist you in modifying your equipment for our anatomy.”

McCoy was struck with shock at how much sense Sarek made.  Perhaps he had also made the erroneous assumption that Vulcans, because they were pacifists, were not exactly the cleverest of species.  Apparently, he was going to have to readjust a little more than his medical scanners.  He nodded shortly to Sarek.  “Fine.  Go and get her.” 

Sarek slid his gaze to his son.  “I will return, Sa-fu.”  He received a jerky nod as a reply.  The glare Sarek then sent McCoy was either a warning or a threat.  Without another word, he turned and left the suite. 

McCoy turned to his bleeding patient.  “Well, I might as well get started on your wounds at least.”  He didn’t exactly say it to the Vulcan.  He was just thinking out loud to avoid an awkward silence.  He picked up one of the cloths and began to wipe the smears and dried green blood from the face of the Vulcan, who had closed his eyes – perhaps to block out the world around him.  When he spoke, McCoy was surprised. 

“You are the first person that has shown me kindness since my arrival.  I thank thee.” 

He froze, staring at the half-cleaned face below him for a moment.  Then, he shook his head to clear it.  “Just doing my job, kid.”

Then, the brown eyes opened, and McCoy saw the tears shining in them.  “May I have your name?”

McCoy realized that he genuinely wanted to give it.  “Doctor Leonard H. McCoy.”

The Vulcan’s eyebrows came together.  “The ‘H’?”

McCoy grinned to himself.  “Horatio.  Old family name.”  Then, his grin disappeared and he returned to his business.  He picked up the dermal regenerator, and held it directly above the split lip.  “Don’t talk.”  He activated it and watched as it sealed the wound closed, repairing the tissue and restoring it to the state before injury.  “Okay, one down.”

“I am Spockh.”

McCoy worked on the bruises on his right cheek.  “That’s great, kid.”  In another moment, the green blemish disappeared, leaving behind smooth, pale skin.  As he worked on the other bruises on his face, he started to see what attracted his best friend.  This male was certainly pleasant to look at, just not exactly his type.  However, being friends for so long with Kirk made him able to at least acknowledge beauty and aesthetics in whatever form they were presented. 

“It is my name.”

McCoy scowled.  “I said that’s great, kid.”

Spockh seemed to understand that McCoy didn’t feel like chatting anymore.  He closed his mouth and continued to focus on trying to keep still, knowing his effort was failing spectacularly. 

Their mutual silence did not last long before a buzz sounded in the suite.  McCoy growled wordlessly and stalked to a wall panel, smacking it.  “What?”

“I am accompanied by T’Pring,” Sarek’s voice came through the receiver. 

McCoy didn’t say anything back, just went to the door and punched in an access code.  They slid aside and admitted the two Vulcans, who walked into the suite as though they were leisurely touring a museum exhibit.  T’Pring walked directly to him.  “I understand that you require my assistance, doctor.”

He stormed to his tricorder, picked it up, and handed it to her.  “You people have crazy readings.”

T’Pring shook her head.  Was that a flicker of amusement McCoy saw?  “Crazy, perhaps, to you, but I assure you that these crazy readings produced by Spockh are indeed within normal range for Vulcans.”  She examined the tricorder before looking back to McCoy.  “I must know precisely what each of these indicators measure.  Which of them indicate blood pressure, respiration, body temperature—”

McCoy understood.  He pointed out what she needed to know quickly.  In return, he received a brief introductory lecture on Vulcan biology and physiology.  He was surprised to learn that their heart was located in a place where the human liver was for him.  That might have explained why his reading indicated the Vulcan should have been in a coma when he looked for his heartbeat on the left side of his chest!  “I will conduct his readings for you, if you would prefer.”

He nodded and swept his hand toward his patient.  T’Pring was prompt.  She went to her cousin-by-marriage and held the now modified tricorder over key areas of his body.  “His heart rate is elevated, but in consideration of our entire species’ circumstances aboard this vessel, you would likely find this within an acceptable range among my people you hold captive.”  McCoy watched her as she examined her cousin quickly and without hesitation, as though she had done this countless times.  If she was a physician, she had done these basic readings consistently, routinely, and with efficiency.  He saw her as she would have been had Vulcan not been attacked and destroyed.  He saw what she truly was, and that was not a prisoner.  An idea struck him. 

“He is healthy, with the exception of residual pain from his abuse of your companions.  I trust you will heal these wounds, as your captain has commanded it so?”

McCoy nodded.  “Yeah.  Already started on that.” 

She returned the modified tricorder to him.  “If you have additional devices, may I recommend you reserve this modified one for the treatment of Vulcans?”

He did not look away from her.  “I will.”

She bowed to him and then left the suite. McCoy watched her leave, wondering if he should ask Sarek about his idea or if he should wait to talk to Kirk.  Kirk probably, but a harmless question or two wouldn’t hurt, would it?  “How good is she?”

The look Sarek gave him was not exactly suspicion.  “I can only assume you are referring to her medical skill.”  McCoy nodded.  “She is experienced, knowledgeable, and efficiently thorough.  It is very likely that she is the ideal caretaker for what remains of our people.” 

_She’s awesome and you couldn’t ask for a better doctor for a Vulcan_ , was how he decided to translate that.  He filed the answer away for now. 

He went back to focusing on his task.  In a matter of a half hour he had finished closing all of the cuts and wounds on the young Vulcan’s body, removed the bruising, and cleaned away his blood.  All of this was done with his cooperation and silence from everyone, which suited McCoy just fine.  Then, he went back to his gathered supplies, and got himself mentally ready for what was about to come.  This was the part he was not exactly looking forward to.  It wasn’t often that he used them, but some examinations he just felt better doing things the old way – surgical gloves.  He slipped them onto his hands and picked up a tube of gelatinous ointment.  As he turned to walk back to the young Vulcan, he saw the alarm on both faces of father and son. 

“What are going to do to me?”

McCoy didn’t look at Sarek.  He met the tearing eyes of the boy.  “A kindness.”  He turned the cap of the tube off and set it aside.  Without speaking further, he squeezed some of the clear gel onto his other hand.  He set the tube down, and touched a switch on the foot of the biobed.  Two metal contraptions extended from the lower end of the biobed until it was a little clearer as to their purpose.  “Put your feet on the stirrups.”

His patient’s shaking had him nearly vibrating on the bed.  His eyes were wide and scared.  “What-what are you going to do to me?” he repeated. 

McCoy sighed, but did not answer.  He looked at Sarek.  “Go over to him and hold him still.”  Surprisingly, whether it was because of confusion or shock Sarek did as he said, walking to stand by his son’s right shoulder.  But his presence did not seem to soothe him.  He was looking at McCoy in terror. 

He didn’t feel like repeating himself to him again during this examination, so he grabbed hold of one ankle and shoved his leg into position, with his foot resting on the stirrup.  He did the same with the other leg.  Without warning, he ripped the blanket from his lower body, eliciting a gasp from the youth.  He began to roll after the covering, but McCoy flung the blanket to the floor behind him as he pushed him back to lie flat on the biobed.  “You need to lie here and not move.”  He glared at Sarek.  “I thought I told you to hold him still.”  Sarek sighed in defeat before resting the palm of his left hand on his son’s forehead, pushing back the dark bangs from his forehead, and gently pressing his head back onto the pillow.  Spockh reached out blindly for his father.  Sarek caught his son’s hand in his right and gently, supportively squeezed. 

“Now,” McCoy continued speaking to Spockh.  “You might not believe me right now, but you’ll be thanking me for this later when you’re getting fucked without any kind of preparation.  He doesn’t work that way.  Likes you to feel every moment of it.”  With surprisingly gentle but firm movements, McCoy spread Spockh’s knees apart, exposing the most intimate area of Spockh’s body to himself.  “But I know you’re a virgin.  And I know this will hurt…a lot…for you if he just rams into you like he probably wants to.” 

He couldn’t breathe he was so frightened.  “Please—I—”  McCoy realized that he didn’t even know what he was trying to ask for. 

“I’m trying to make sure you aren’t hurt too badly tonight,” he tried to reassure the Vulcan.  “So, yeah, I’m doing you a kindness by doing this.”

The younger Vulcan sobbed.  Sarek stroked his son’s forehead.  “Close your eyes, my son.”  Spockh obeyed. 

McCoy rubbed his hands together, coating the gloves in lubrication.  He bent over enough to get his shoulders between the Vulcan’s knees, so that he could not instinctively close his legs at the unavoidable moment.  “Can you relax, kid?”  Spockh shook his head violently.  “Well, then,” McCoy whispered.  “This’ll hurt.”  With as much compassion as he could muster for his patient, he slowly worked one of his fingers into the Vulcan’s passage. 

He did not expect the choked whimper that struggled out of the Vulcan’s mouth.  It made him go still and look at him.  He was grasping his father’s hand so tightly his arms shook.  The rest of the Vulcan was unmoving.  He was so tense he couldn’t even shake anymore.  His eyes were clenched, but it did not stop the moisture of his tears from escaping. 

McCoy had nothing else he could say to this boy.  He decided that he should just try to get this over with as quickly as he could for everyone’s sake.  He worked a second finger into the Vulcan’s entrance, and barely scissored his fingers before he was sliding a third inside of him. 

“Please—” the Vulcan whispered so quietly McCoy could barely hear him.  “Stop.  Please.” 

McCoy ignored him.  Nothing he could say would make a difference anyway.  He removed his fingers and squeezed more lube onto them before he worked all three at once back into the Vulcan.  This produced a strangled cry from him.  McCoy glanced up and saw that, despite his eyes still firmly shut, tears ran down his face to disappear into the hair at his temples.  Sarek looked at McCoy with hopeless sadness.  “Is this necessary?”

He stroked the Vulcan with his fingers, coating his insides with the lube.  “If I don’t, he’ll rip when he’s with the captain later.  I don’t really feel like dealing with repairing tears in this kid’s rectum once Kirk’s finished with him.  This way I don’t have to work around blood and semen.  He still might tear, but the damage won’t be so bad that he needs to come back to me to put him back together.”  The wet sounds that McCoy’s fingers made as he pumped them into Spockh repeatedly made Sarek grimace.  It wasn’t exactly pleasant for McCoy either.  This young Vulcan was tight around only three of his fingers.  He could only imagine how excited Kirk was going to be when this tightness encased his cock.  McCoy stretched the Vulcan a little longer, knowing he was going to be ridden hard once Kirk got himself on top of him.  He suddenly remembered something he should probably tell this poor creature.  “Just so you know, the captain doesn’t stop with his bed partners until they come, too.”  He forced his fingers deeper and further apart in the Vulcan, whose tension had not lessened, and whose whimpering increased. 

“I—I do not un—understand.”

“I’m trying to tell you that he’ll fuck you until you orgasm, too.”

“I have…never experienced an or—orgasm. I do n-not know how it feels.”

McCoy sighed in frustration, maybe a little sympathy.  “Then, you better hope your body responds to him, or you’ll be in for a very rough and hard night.”  He removed his fingers, satisfied with the amount of lube he’d managed to leave behind in the Vulcan’s passage, but also hoping it would be enough to lessen the pain he would feel. 

He ripped off his gloves and disposed of them.  When he looked back at the Vulcans, he saw that they had both not moved.  The youth still had his legs spread on the stirrups, and his eyes were still closed tightly.  McCoy went back to them, gently putting his hands on each of his patient’s knees and pushing them together slowly.  “Try to keep as much of that in you as you can.  It’ll make it easier for you.”  His patient curled into himself slowly. 

The Vulcan finally opened his eyes.  They were bloodshot and his tears came freely now.  “Is it over?”

McCoy shook his head.  He wasn’t sure what he was asking.  The examination was over with him, but this violation certainly wasn’t over for the Vulcan.  When he looked into the Vulcan’s desperate and pleading eyes, he knew what he meant.  “No,” he said, honestly.  “It’s not over.  Not yet.”  The Vulcan sobbed and lowered his head into his bound hands.  He was truly beginning to understand that nothing he could do or say would prevent the loss of his virginity to the captain. 

McCoy picked up the discarded blanket and draped it over the young one.  “I’m sorry.”  And he truly was. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Nurse Christine Chapel was not a stupid person.  She stood at the biobed on which Ensign Pavel Chekov was lying unconscious, eying the tiny Vulcan female who sat in the chair beside him.  The petite female stared at Chekov as though her willpower would be enough to wake him up.  From across the room, Christine had seen the witchcraft the old Vulcan woman did on Chekov.  And now here he was unconscious.  And Kirk wanted to trust these Vulcans?  Was he insane?  He’d seen – he’d been standing right there – when Chekov was knocked out cold.  How could he still think this was a good idea? 

Then, she’d seen the way he handled a young male.  A young and frightened Vulcan male.  She knew what Kirk looked like when he was intent on claiming someone as his, and he looked at that Vulcan like that.  And once he’d kissed the bleeding Vulcan, Christine knew. 

But she waited.  She waited until Kirk had left Sickbay.  She waited until McCoy had gotten Chekov settled and hooked up to the biobed.  She waited until he’d assigned her and M’Benga to handle the prisoners while he was gone for a few minutes.  She’d watched as McCoy had led the Vulcan male by the arm into the private examination suite, an older Vulcan male following them.  She recognized him.  He was the one who’d asked her where his son was.  She’d struck him for speaking to her.  Apparently, the Vulcan Kirk was interested in was this one’s son. 

Very interesting. 

But she still waited.  She waited until the older male returned to the main room of Sickbay, approached a female, and then returned to the suite with her.  Then, she called to M’Benga, who was restarting the rounds with the weakening complex.  There were so many of these creatures that by the time they had successfully administered the compound to them all, they had to immediately start all over again.  It was about to begin wearing off on the ones that they had first injected.  She needed to convince M’Benga to help her on making it a breathable compound instead of a hypo.  So they could clear all Empire personnel from the room, flood it with the airborne compound and return once it was safe and the Vulcans subdued.  It would be so much easier. 

“What, Chrissy?”

She knew she had a small margin of time, and therefore decided to ignore the insufferable pet name M’Benga sometimes called her to make her temper flare.  “I have something to take care of.  Can you monitor Chekov while I’m gone?”

“What’s on your mind?”

She gave him a flirtatious smile as she reached up to caress his jawline.  As his woman, she could do this if she wanted.  She suspected their connection was why McCoy stayed away from them.  He probably suspected they would try to outnumber him and kill him.  Chapel had been waiting for this opportunity for quite some time.  But McCoy was brilliant in his work, and had both Pike’s and Kirk’s protection.  She and M’Benga had to wait for the right moment.  After all, she knew he’d be a much better chief of medical than McCoy ever would.  M’Benga knew it, too.  And they both knew that he was simply waiting for the right time to act on that knowledge, waiting to acquire enough allies.  And now she was going to start to build them.  “I have to call Moreau.”

“Moreau?  Kirk’s woman?  Why?”

But Chapel had already turned away from him and had headed into one of the small labs they typically used for running blood samples, and sanitizing their surgical blades that they used during tortures or autopsies.  She hit the comm unit on the wall by the door.  “Chapel to Moreau.  Marlena.  Answer me.”

They voice that responded was airy and seductive in tone.  She always spoke this way.  “Marlena here.  Go ahead, Christine.”

“I just thought you should be prepared.”

“For?”

Chapel scowled at the voice pickup.  “You’ve been replaced in Kirk’s bed.  If you want power, I would start looking for someone who has some.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The news that Nero had changed course was still bothering Kirk.  He couldn’t figure this Romulan’s motivation for such a radical move.  He had been heading toward Terra, to the Empress herself.  What would make him change his mind? 

He needed to think.  And Kirk tended to do his best thinking when he was showering, eating, exercising, or walking through the ship.  The first three were not options at the moment. He used a padd to send a non-audio message to Wolfe, asking him to meet him at the turbolift doors on Deck Six.  A moment later he had a response. 

_Moreau’s belongings have been transferred back to her quarters.  I’ll meet you at the lift in five minutes._

Kirk was in thought, wondering about this issue with Nero, and also coming to another problem.  He looked to the second-helmsman, Hikaru Sulu.  He knew the man wanted to be first officer, and Kirk had deliberately refused him the position.  He would make a much better security chief anyways.  Sulu had a knack for sticking his nose in other people’s business.  Yes, Sulu would soon enough become obsessed with checking in on everyone and everything they were talking about or working on. 

But he still had a problem.  He had no first officer. 

And he had to figure this out quickly.  He did have a candidate in mind, but he would have to check that theory.

Kirk got to his feet and barked to Sulu.  “Keep following Nero closely.  Notify me if anything changes.”

“Understood, Captain,” Sulu responded through clenched teeth.  Kirk knew Sulu could have made it much more obvious that he was displeased with his current reassignment.  Kirk had to make sure the man he wanted for the job was still open to it.  With recent events, Kirk wasn’t entirely sure he _would_ be open to the idea. 

He stepped out of the turbolift and was immediately flanked by Wolfe.  “Where to, Captain?”

Kirk didn’t even look at Wolfe.  “Take me to him.”

Wolfe did not need to ask who Kirk meant.  He nodded and led the way down the winding and curving corridors of the ship.  Finally, Kirk heard it – the very familiar hum and pulse of the agony booth. 

He looked at Gary Mitchell inside of the booth.  Even Kirk had to admit that it was impressive that he’d lasted this long in it.  However, he looked to be nearing complete exhaustion and at his pain threshold.  Kirk sighed.  “Turn it off.”  When Farrell turned to obey his captain, the sounds of the booth stopped, and the transparent door slid aside.  Gary began to fall forward out of it, and would have ended up on the deck had Kirk not come forward to catch him. 

“Easy, Mitchell.” 

From somewhere, Mitchell mustered up enough energy to feebly try to break free of Kirk’s hold.  “Ge’ off me,” he managed. 

“Shut up!” he snapped.  “Unless you want to stay in there longer, you’ll listen.”  He received a glare as a response.  “Learn your lesson about touching what’s mine?”  Then a nod.  “Good.  That being the case, I have an offer for you.” 

“Can’t be that good if you’re coming to me.”

Kirk smirked at him.  “Actually, it pissed off Sulu that I didn’t offer it to him.  Didn’t tell him I was thinking of offering you that position.”

That Hikaru Sulu was practically drooling over the idea of being first officer was common knowledge on the ship.  Gary’s eyes widened and he looked disbelievingly at Kirk.  “Why me?  Why not Sulu?”

“Yeah, I do like Sulu better than you,” Kirk admitted.  “But I need someone who’s not afraid to do a little damage around here.  Sulu is.  He hates killing.  You don’t.” 

Mitchell looked at him suspiciously.  “And what makes you think I won’t just kill you, too?”

Kirk’s smile was confident.  “Because you know how many people would kill you immediately if anything happened to me.  You’d have the shortest captaincy in the Empire.”  He backed Mitchell up so he could lean against a wall.  “Besides, with so many officers in the Empire dead thanks to that Romulan killing half the fleet, good and ruthless high-ranking officers are hard to find.  If you do well, I’ll make sure the Empress hears about it.  You’ll be on your ship before you know it.”

Mitchell half smiled and tried not to chuckle at this proposal.  “I know you, Kirk.  There’s a catch here somewhere.  What is it?”

Kirk nodded.  He always knew Mitchell was direct and to the point.  “You obey my orders and never countermand me.  You stay away from me, Chekov, McCoy, anyone connected to his staff, his Vulcan pet, and mine.  They’re completely off-limits.”

“And I get what in return for this obedience and playing-nice?”

“I would think authority over everyone else on the ship would suffice, don’t you?  You can do whatever you want to anyone else on this ship.  After all, that’s what first officers are for, right?  Ensuring order and discipline at all costs?”

“Pointless if some people are exceptions to that.” 

Kirk’s eyes hardened.  “They’re off-limits, Mitchell.  They belong to me.  Non-negotiable.” 

He saw Mitchell thinking about his offer, trying to find a loophole to it.  Trying to find a hidden agenda. 

“And,” Kirk tried to sweeten the offer.  “If I remember your file information, you have a high ESPer rating, right?  A little mind-control?”  He saw the spark of interest in Mitchell’s eyes. 

“Something like that.”

Kirk nodded.  “You can play with any of our prisoners as much as you want.”  Then, he had to clarify.  “Except Chekov’s, McCoy’s, and mine.”

“Adding to your conditions?  Didn’t know the little Russian is old enough for a toy.”

Kirk refused to respond to the insult.  “Chekov just bonded with one of the Vulcans.  As I understand it, if she gets hurt, so does he.  So, she stays unharmed, too.”

Kirk knew the moment Mitchell seemed to like the offer when the excitement came to his eyes.  “Anyone else is fair game?” 

Kirk nodded, maintaining eye contact.  “Fair game.” 

Mitchell stared at Kirk for a long moment.  Then, with a surprisingly steady and strong voice he declared, “I accept your promotion, captain.” 


	7. Family Separations

“I have to admit, Prod Nero, that I did not expect this when you demanded my presence aboard your ship,” Captain Pike said as casually as he could while pretending to eat the food his host had put in front of him.  He had no idea what it was, and he was certainly not excited about it.  Ayel, Nero’s second in command, had informed him that their main course was called Viinerine.  Pike shifted it around his plate as often as he could, while keeping Nero talking.  But he did not refuse the drink that had been placed at his right.  “Death, yes.  You asking for my help?  Very unexpected.”

“I haven’t had a reason to have many guests on the Narada, Christopher.”  Nero was consuming the Viinerine with enthusiasm.  He gestured to the fluted glass near the human.  “But I see you are not as reluctant to enjoy our kali-fal as much as you’re pretending to enjoy your food.” 

Pike put his utensils down, knowing it was pointless to continue pretending since Nero had noticed.  “The ale is…potent.” 

Nero smiled at him with the confidence of a combatant who had the upper hand.  “Most species other than Romulans enjoy the taste, but discover quickly that they have a low tolerance for it.”  He took a sip of his own, swirling the bright blue liquid in his mouth for a moment to relish in the taste.  “You, however, are doing surprisingly well with it.” 

The human simply raised his glass in salute to his host before taking another small sip.  He needed to change topic.  “I hope my suggestion was helpful to you.”

Nero nodded to him. “I think it will be.  We’ve already altered course and are on our way there now.”  He set his glass aside and rested his forearms on the table, putting his weight on them to lean closer to Pike.  “But tell me, will your ship follow us?”

He could tell this Romulan what he wanted to hear, or he could tell him the truth as far as he knew.  If what Ayel had told him earlier about their escape from the Klingon prison asteroid of Rura Penthe was true, then Pike did not doubt that Nero would be able to force the information he wanted from him.  How Nero would do that, Pike didn’t know exactly, but he was not willing to find out. 

 “If I know my first officer, he’ll have my ship follow us.”

“Your first officer or your son?”

Pike met Nero’s gaze steadily.  “Is there a difference?”

“There could be very soon.” 

“I don’t understand.  How?”

Nero sighed in frustration.  “Why are humans so reluctant to understand the obvious?”  He took a swig of the kali-fal before returning his attention to Pike.  “I need you to remember the…interrogation that we just had.  What was said in it.” 

That got his attention.  What he was piecing together from it was not leading to a situation Pike would call ideal. 

“Gaining power is never easy, Christopher,” purred the Romulan.  “And it’s nearly impossible if you’re soft.”

Pike bristled at the insinuation.  He was not soft.  He was not weak.

It was obvious that Nero recognized the reaction.  “You know what you need to do.  Such a simple thing, really.  But at least you have a choice to make.” 

Pike knew which one he would make, even before Nero said that.  He had already made one bargain with this Romulan devil.  Pike’s life and safety in exchange for a way to dispose of a certain piece of cargo on board Nero’s ship.  Pike didn’t want to make a deal with the very individual that had been responsible for the death of his friend twenty-five years ago.  But he was still alive, and George Kirk was still dead.  He intended to remain alive.   

If Pike wanted to leave the Narada in one piece, he would have to do what George did not. 

Stay loyal to the Empire and the Empire alone. 

Anyone who compromised that loyalty was only a hindrance. 

“I’ll need my shuttle returned.”

Nero nodded.  “Not only that.  We’ll damage it a little for effect.  I’ll also have Ayel accompany you as your prisoner.  He’ll keep you focused on our arrangement.”  He glanced at his second, who nodded sharply at him.  “Well, then,” he said in a voice that clearly ended dinner and their discussion.  “We have a limited amount of time to prepare.  We should start now.  I’ll need you at my side, Captain Pike, when we have to give the codes for their shields.”  With a brisk turn, Nero walked away.

A shadow fell over him as Ayel came to his side.  Pike looked up at him.  “This is to make it convincing.”  His movements were so quick that Pike could not even react as Ayel’s fist impacted his jaw.    

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Kirk watched Mitchell leave until he was out of sight.  Confident his new first officer would not betray him without getting him to trust him for at least a short length of time, Kirk allowed himself to relax – but only because he was with two of his trusted bodyguards.  He was, however, missing one member of his security team, and he needed to be informed on the changes he was about to order. “Kirk to Giotto.”

The response was nearly immediate.  “Giotto here.”

“Meet us in the Cochrane Room.”

“Us?”

Kirk nodded to himself, familiar with Giotto’s need to know specifics.  “Wolfe, Farrell, and me.  Immediately.”

“On my way.” 

Kirk deactivated his own communicator and started toward the Cochrane Room.  It was his favorite conference room.  Large, plush, comfortable chairs around a rather informal-looking and low table with one of its walls transparent to view the stars as the ship traveled through the universe.  He’d practically claimed it as his own private conference room when Pike had discovered him in the room after a successful mission.  Kirk, fueled with adrenaline from the mission, had dragged the new petite blonde yeoman into the room and had her anchored on her back in one of the chairs almost before the doors had slid shut again.  He hadn’t even bothered to rip her uniform off, but he shifted the interfering parts of it aside just enough for him to begin fucking her into the chair.  She had screamed until she was hoarse.  And when Pike had come into the room and saw what Kirk was doing to her, he did not interfere, did not speak, and did not move.  Kirk had simply met his adopted father’s eyes over the back of the chair and grinned, his thrusts into Yeoman Rand never faltering. 

Kirk smiled to himself.  After that incident, Pike didn’t hold any meetings in that room.  It was almost like he’d given the room to his adopted son after that incident.  It suited Kirk just fine.  It was like having his own private space other than his quarters.  It was his sanctuary, his playroom as it were, where he could do whatever he wanted, and hold private meetings to discuss whatever he deemed important. 

And Giotto had been extremely helpful in ensuring the room’s complete privacy.  It was the only conference room that did not contain ship recorders.  A replicator had been installed.  To make the room completely his own, it had been programmed to open at Kirk’s access commands. 

They waited for Barry Giotto to arrive before the four men entered the room.  “Sit down, gentlemen,” Kirk ordered.  He went right to the replicator and got himself a drink.  It wasn’t real alcohol, not like the good, authentic stuff Bones kept hidden away, but it would do well enough.  “I have to reassign you.  Don’t be angry.  I have my reasons.”

Giotto was the first to speak.  “Who?”

Kirk took a sip from the synth-brandy.  “You, most of all.”  He didn’t miss the way Giotto shifted in the plush chair.  The way he tensed.  “I made Sulu my chief of security in your place.”

“What?”

“Mitchell’s my new first, but I need Sulu’s loyalty.  I had to give him something to do.  Security Chief it is.  He’s still not exactly thrilled by it, but he’ll get over it.”

Giotto’s expression was decidedly displeased.  “And my reassignment, Captain?”

Kirk nodded more to himself than Giotto.  “I’m moving you to Sickbay.”

Now his former Security Chief was confused.  “Why?  McCoy can take care of himself just fine.  He’s never needed security before.”

“I don’t trust all those Vulcans with him.  I don’t trust Chapel, and I don’t trust M’Benga.  But I trust you.” 

“Not exactly something you admit to anyone in the Empire, Sir,” said Wolfe with a short laugh.

Kirk chuckled to himself.  “I know.  But you all know I let certain things slide with you three, and give you damn good rewards for keeping me alive.”  All three men nodded, almost unwilling to agree.  Kirk turned his attention back to Giotto.  “That being said, I need you to keep an eye on Chapel and M’Benga.  Ever since he took her as his woman things have been imbalanced down there.  I want you to trail McCoy like a shadow.  Keep him safe by any means necessary.”

Giotto nodded.  He knew how close McCoy and Kirk were.  “Will my security clearance still work?”

Kirk nodded.  “I’ll make sure it does.  Besides, Sulu will need a second-in-command.  I guess that’s you.”

Giotto understood.  “I’ll monitor Sulu, too.”

“Good.”  Kirk jerked his head to the door.  “Man your new assignment.  Dismissed, Giotto.” There was silence in the conference room until the doors shut behind Giotto’s departure.  Then, Kirk turned to his remaining personal guards.  “One of you is also getting reassigned.”

Wolfe and Farrell exchanged a glance.  “But, Sir,” Wolfe said hesitantly,   “we’ve been at your side since the Academy.” 

“I know,” Kirk admitted.  “But right now, I’m putting part of my life in the mind of a Vulcan.  As a consequence of that bonding, as they call it, should anything happen to him, I end up dead.  The same is true of the reverse.  You understand what that means.”

They both nodded.  “One of us will be his guard instead of yours.”

Farrell shook his head.  “That’s taking a risk, Kirk.  Spreading your guards out too thin.”

Kirk took a deep breath through his nose. 

“Besides,” Wolfe continued.  “I didn’t think you bonded to one yet.”

“But soon I will.” 

“It’s a mistake, Captain.”

Kirk glared at Farrell.  “Is it?”

“That Vulcan could kill you.”

Kirk’s confidence grew.  “No, he won’t.  Bonded Vulcans can’t hurt their mates.  I don’t have to worry about that.  What I do have to worry about is someone going after me or him.  I can’t have that.  He needs some protection.”  He studied the two of them, gauging which of them would be more likely to take him seriously.  “Wolfe, you’re his personal guard.” 

Wolfe nodded slowly.  “I thought Vulcans are supposed to be stronger than humans.”

Kirk laughed through his nose.  “He won’t be.  He’ll be nice and well-behaved on his…”  He trailed off as he thought of what to call the weakening hypo.  He smiled.  “…on his submissive cocktail.  You shouldn’t have a problem with him.” 

“Am I to report as his guard now?”

Kirk looked at the chair on which he’d pummeled Rand, but thinking of the Vulcan.  His excitement for later grew.  He wondered if he’d scream like Rand, or if he’d moan like Moreau.  Whatever the noises he’d make, Kirk knew he couldn’t wait to spread the Vulcan’s legs and do to him what no man had ever done before.  “Yeah,” he whispered.  His own voice brought him from his fantasy abruptly.  “Dismissed, Wolfe.  Go to Sickbay.  McCoy’s got him now—”  He smiled in his excitement.  “—getting him ready and pretty for me.  If he’s done with him, I want you to bring him to my quarters, then stay on guard outside the door.”  Wolfe stood and headed toward the door of the conference room.  “Wolfe,” Kirk called, halting the man’s exit.  He only continued when the other man faced him.  “He is not to be harmed.  You can threaten him, and personally escort him to his new home, but you won’t hurt him.”

Wolfe acknowledged the order with a jerk of his head.  “Understood, Captain.”  Without waiting for a second dismissal, Wolfe left the conference room. 

The conference room was quiet for a long time after Wolfe’s departure.  In the silence, Kirk returned to the replicator and cued up a drink for his chief personal guard.  He brought it to the other man, who accepted it with a nod.  After they both nursed their drinks for another several long minutes of silence, Kirk finally looked at Farrell.  And Farrell watched Kirk with curious interest, as though trying to decipher his captain’s intentions.  “Am I the special one you like at your side?”

Kirk took the chair next to Farrell.  “You’re staying as my guard, but I also need you to watch someone else.” 

Farrell was smart, and easily capable of piecing information together.  He was also one of the deadliest security men on the ship.  “You already have someone protecting McCoy and watching Sulu.  You’ve got Wolfe watching out for your new plaything.  Aside from a new security chief needing observation and your friend’s life protected, you need someone to watch your first officer, don’t you?”

Kirk nodded seriously.  “I don’t trust him.”

“How am I supposed to watch Mitchell and keep you alive at the same time?”

Kirk avoided the question.  “Mitchell’s dangerous.”

Farrell leaned closer to Kirk.  “Then why make him first officer?”

Kirk smirked at him.  “If I give him a position of authority, he’ll consider it a reward for now.” 

“So you buy yourself a little time from his attention.  Once he turns it to you, though—”

“That’s why I need you watching him.  If he seems off in any way, I need to know.  If you think for a second he’s planning something, I need you to handle it.”

Farrell nodded, accepting his task.  “You know first officer won’t keep him happy for long.” 

Kirk averted his gaze and focused on the stars his ship was passing at warp.  “I know.  But if I didn’t do something, I wouldn’t have even a little time left.  I’d be dead already.”

Farrell shook his head.  “Let’s hope your time is longer than we both think.”

Just then, Kirk’s communicator went off.  “McCoy to Captain Kirk.”

“Kirk here.  What’s going on, McCoy?”

“Just thought you should know: Chekov’s waking up.”

Kirk stood abruptly.  “I’m on my way.”

“Oh, and Wolfe took your Vulcan.”  Kirk could hear the uncertainty in McCoy’s tone.  “Sure hope you gave him that order.” 

“Calm down, Doctor.  Wolfe’s taking him to my quarters.”  Kirk set down the brandy glass and motioned to Farrell to follow him.  “We’ll be right down.  Tell that old Vulcan woman I have some questions for her.” 

“I’m sure Chekov does, too.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He had no idea where the Romulan’s vessel was heading.  It did not make sense to change course from Terra.  Terra was home to the Empress.  If this Nero’s goal was to bring down the Empire, why would he alter his course _away_ from that Empire’s leader?  Also, why would he have attacked Vulcan in the first place?  Sulu felt his expression tighten as these thoughts troubled him.  He was still focused on trailing the Romulan, but he just had to wonder about these things. 

He glanced behind him to the currently unoccupied captain’s chair.  Who was Kirk’s pick for first officer?  Sulu knew he was qualified, and he’d shown enough loyalty to Kirk and Pike in the past to be up for consideration.  So, what was it?  Did Kirk just not like him? 

The turbolift doors hissed open and revealed an officer Sulu hadn’t seen since the man had been ordered by Pike to spacejump onto the Romulan’s planetary drill with Olson and Reilly.  Gary Mitchell.

The man stood there looking at every single bridge member one at a time before leisurely strolling around behind the captain’s chair.  “Status report?”  His voice was clear and authoritative. 

Sulu couldn’t find his voice, but apparently Kevin Reilly could.  “In pursuit of the Romulan.”

Mitchell looked directly at Reilly.  “Where is he heading?”

Reilly turned to his console.  He was the duty navigator for the moment, especially since Chekov was still in Sickbay.  Sulu was a little concerned.  That kid had no business being on this ship.  He was only seventeen.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t friends with him.  He was brilliant, but he was certainly not as battle-ready as almost everyone else on the ship.  Chekov was like a man’s little finger – one easy twist and it broke.  Sulu didn’t think Chekov was going to last on this ship, and that was a shame.  Chekov could have become a fierce officer. 

Sulu heard the end of Reilly’s reply.  “—unknown, Sir.  His course is erratic.  Like he’s trying to lose us.”

Mitchell casually strutted to stand beside the center chair.  “Continue pursuit.”  Then, his attention came to Sulu.  “Sulu, you’re Security Chief, right?”

Sulu nodded curtly to him. 

Mitchell nodded his head toward Sulu’s console.  “Activate Captain Pike’s subcutaneous transponder.  I want to know if he’s still alive over there.  And it will keep you, Reilly, on course as we pursue.” 

While Reilly was quick to return his attention to his duties, Sulu was not as enthusiastic about Mitchell coming onto the bridge like he owned it.  “On whose authority, Mitchell?”

The smile Mitchell gave him was of pure, arrogant superiority.  “Your new first officer’s authority.”  With one step, he lowered himself into the command chair.  Sulu felt the heat in his face.  He stared at Mitchell in disbelief.  He must have stared too long.  “Did you suddenly lose your hearing, Sulu?  Activate Pike’s transponder.”  Sulu continued to stare, no longer in disbelief, but in growing anger.  “Now!” Mitchell snapped at him. 

Sulu turned to face his own console, resting his clenched fists on it as he stewed in his rage.  He was not a man who enjoyed killing unless it was necessary, but he wanted to murder someone at that moment.  For the first time, he wanted to kill for a chance at command.

But he could not decide if he wanted to kill Gary Mitchell or James T. Kirk.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

McCoy didn’t leave the examination suite to give the Vulcans further privacy.  He’d left because he couldn’t stand to look at the kid’s innocent and watery eyes anymore.  After he’d wrapped him in the blanket and muttered his sympathies for his situation, he’d left the room as quickly as he could.  Granted, he didn’t go very far.  He was still right at the doorway.  He had no enthusiasm to deal with M’Benga and Chapel, and no desire to see any more Vulcans.  He just wanted a moment to himself.  So, there he remained leaning back against the bulkhead just to the right of the entranceway of the suite in which he’d left the two Vulcans. 

He closed his eyes for only a moment, trying to block out his surroundings and clear his head.  He had his hand curled around his dagger hilt just in case, but knew he would hear someone approaching long before they got close enough to agonize him. 

What he did hear was the sound of the main doors to his Sickbay hiss open.  “Where’s Doctor McCoy?”

He heard the tone of Chapel’s voice, but not her precise words.  He had recognized the new arrival, though.  Security.  Personal Guard.  He was one of Kirk’s men.  Soon enough the man came around the turn, just after McCoy had opened his eyes. 

“I’ve come for the Vulcan.”

McCoy feigned surprise.  “Have you, now, Wolfe?  Do you even know which one?”

Wolfe’s lips thinned in his frustration.  “Kirk’s Vulcan.  I know you know which one, since he indicated I had to get him from you.”  He managed a tiny smile.  “And from what I’ve seen of Kirk’s taste, he’s probably young and attractive…at least to him.”

McCoy didn’t release the grip on his weapon.  “But we both know that Kirk’s taste is wide and varied.  He likes some creatures that people like you and I wouldn’t even look twice at, never mind take to bed.”

Wolfe did not shift in expression.  “But young and attractive – however that applies to Kirk – are always factors for him.”

“That is true, Wolfe.”  He remained leaning against the bulkhead.  He tapped the hilt of his dagger, letting the guard know he had a slight advantage still. 

“Bring me the Vulcan.”

McCoy shook his head, pushing his weight off the wall to stand upright and firm.  “Tell you what: I’ll bring _you_ to the Vulcan.” 

Wolfe nodded sharply.  “Lead the way, Doctor.”

McCoy entered the access code and stepped through the doors as they parted.  He saw the two Vulcans he’d left there close together.  At least they were both standing.  Spockh had apparently managed to get his clothes back on, although he would wager that the kid’s father had helped him.  But the young one still held the blanket tightly around his shoulders, like it was protecting him from his fate.  McCoy hoped he would accept it sooner than later.  Kirk liked spirit, but he didn’t like them to fight him.  Janice Rand had learned that the hard way.  And she’d been humiliated for it. 

Sarek was speaking softly to his son, who was slowly nodding his response.  McCoy assumed they were talking in Vulcan, since he had no idea what they were saying.  It was definitely not Imperial Standard.  McCoy decided not to delay the inevitable longer than necessary.  “Time to go, kid.”

Spockh’s head snapped toward him, but his eyes immediately took in Wolfe standing right behind McCoy.  “Rai.”  He shook his head violently, as he grabbed the fabric at his father’s chest.  “Sanu, sa-mekh, sanu.” 

“Spockh.”  Sarek’s voice was not as steady as it had been in the moments McCoy had previously witnessed between them.  Perhaps his son’s situation was as difficult for the father as it was traumatizing for the son.  Sarek brought his hands up to cup his son’s face.  “Spockh, sahrafelau nash-veh.”

Spockh shook his head.  He looked like a cornered beast, his eyes frantically searching for an escape, and when he could find none, he began to panic.  “Rai!”

Sarek tightened his hold on Spockh’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes.  “Sa-fu, du nam-tor muhl.”

Spockh pushed his father away from him, but Sarek was quicker.  He grabbed his son’s arm and jerked him around to face him again.  “Ti’amah!” the younger Vulcan hissed at his father.

McCoy saw Wolfe come to stand next to him before the other man spoke.  “What the hell are they saying?”

McCoy wasn’t even listening to them anymore.  His focus was on their body language.  “I’m not sure.  But it looks like the little one doesn’t like what he’s hearing.”  He decided then that it might be interesting to see if he could pick up a word or two.  It might come in handy with the other Vulcans.  The only word he was beginning to understand in this conversation was “rai,” which he assumed meant “no,” just by how many times it had been said and with a violent reaction to go with it.  Then again, McCoy considered himself a doctor, and not a linguist. 

“Rai, Spockh!” snarled Sarek in his son’s face.  “Shroi-tor nash-veh!”

Spockh struggled to escape his father’s grasp.  “Worla va-ashiv!”

He’d had enough of this Vulcan language nonsense.  McCoy stepped towards them but far enough away to avoid blows.  He could feel Wolfe’s presence following his and staying at his side.  “Speak Standard, you two!  I know you can!” 

Both Vulcans stared in surprise at him.  It was Sarek who recovered first.  “Spockh, sa-fu—”  He shook his head.  “My son,” he tried again.  “Forgive me.  I have made an arrangement for us.  We will be safe this way.”

Spockh looked at his father in stunned disbelief.  McCoy would almost call it betrayal.  “How can you consider my imminent violation as a method of ensuring my safety?  That is precisely the opposite!  There is no safety for us on this vessel!  How will I be safe and well while my life is at this captain’s mercy?”

“You heard his conditions.”  Sarek’s gaze pleaded with his son. 

Spockh’s stance visually deflated.  “I cannot submit to him.”

Sarek sighed.  “You must.”  He reached to his son’s face, and pulled him forward so that their foreheads could meet.  “Ni’droi’ik nar-tor, Spockh.  Nash-veh tishau-du.”  They separated.  Sarek looked directly into his son’s eyes.  “I could not determine another way.”

Spockh retreated from his father, but he maintained eye contact.  Sarek’s entire body relaxed as his son seemed to begin to accept his situation a little more.  In another moment, and with more energy than McCoy had seen from him, Spockh flung the blanket from him as a means for their distraction while he sprinted for the doors of the examination room, choosing a wide route around him and Wolfe.

“Spockh!” cried Sarek, as he started after his fleeing son. 

McCoy heard the sound of bodies colliding behind him.  He knew that Wolfe had intercepted the Vulcan in his flight.  He held up a hand in the universal gesture for “stop” to Sarek before he turned to face the commotion behind him.  Spockh was snarling at Wolfe, who held the Vulcan from behind by the upper arms, pulling them back so that Spockh’s bound hands were pressed against his own chest, and his body was anchored to his captor’s restraining form.  Then, Spockh’s eyes found his.  “Leonard!  Please!”

For only a moment, McCoy considered asking Wolfe to release him and let him take the kid to Kirk’s quarters himself.  But then he knew word would get around faster than the speed at which the air circulation worked on the ship that not only had he grown soft, but that he’d undermined an order from the new captain.  If Kirk wanted one of his personal guards to bring his new bedmate to his quarters, no one but his personal guard was going to do it.  But McCoy did allow himself to sigh as he turned away from the young Vulcan. 

He looked directly into Sarek’s eyes as Wolfe physically hauled Spockh from the suite.  McCoy didn’t think that even Sarek could bear to watch his son taken forcibly away from him.  The meeting and holding of their eyes anchored the two males where they stood.  McCoy realized it was almost like they were drawing strength from each other.  Silently, one commanded the other to stay where he was, while the other tried to reassure him that this had to be done.  They only broke eye contact when the desperate pleas for release and the physical struggle of the younger Vulcan were cut off by the doors sliding shut. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Spockh barely remembered being escorted through the medical bay in which his people were all held captive.  He could barely comprehend what he had seen through his panic and the tears he could not seem to contain, despite all of his efforts to master his shattered shields and control the pain of his broken bond with his mother.  Her death – witnessing her death – had apparently damaged him far more than he had thought. 

He was once again in a lift before he had realized that he had been taken there.  His arm was still firmly held by the human male wearing red.  He did not hear him command it to take them elsewhere or even where they were going.  He only felt the lift activate.  He glanced at the man, trying to associate a facial feature or anything distinct about the man so that he could easier recall his name on sight of him in the future.  Leonard McCoy had called him Wolfe.  His mother had once told him about Terran wolves, even drew an incredibly inaccurate representation of one for him when he had asked for a visual of it.  This man did not resemble his mother’s drawing. 

But Spockh was determined to remember the names of the people he’d so far encountered.  The first person to whom he had properly been introduced was the doctor, Leonard Horatio McCoy.  He was not fond of the human, but strangely, he did believe him when he had hurt him earlier during the supposed examination.  The doctor had certainly hurt him the least of all the humans he had met so far.  He had called it a kindness to prepare him for the captain later tonight.  The thought of the captain caused his pulse to quicken, and his ability to breathe became difficult.  He shifted his weight, and felt the muscles of his hindquarters protest the movement, but he also felt the ointment the doctor had left inside of him.  He finally managed to contain his first sob since his imprisonment.  He did not wish to encounter the captain tonight.

“Come on, Vulcan,” this Wolfe man said, tugging him along by his arm.

Spockh remembered this corridor.  He had made his first temporary escape through it, after he had nerve-pinched the captain, preventing his rape the first time, before he’d freed himself from his ankle bindings and fled the man’s quarters.  But he had been found by…

Spockh tried to recall the name of the man the captain had viciously beaten in front of him.  Even he had to admit to himself that he was grateful for the interference.  The other man had shown no mercy to him from the moment he’d come up behind him in this very corridor up until the moment when the captain proceeded to strike and beat him in the medical bay repeatedly until the man was barely conscious. 

…Mitchell.  That was his attacker’s name.  Gary Mitchell.  Spockh hoped – illogically, he knew – that he would not meet him again. 

“Warm yourself up before Kirk gets here.  He likes his meals hot before he eats them,” Wolfe advised as he keyed in an access code.  Spockh did not understand how he was related to sustenance.  The doors slid open for them. 

“Get in there!” the human shouted, before releasing Spockh’s arm, and pushing Spockh hard between the shoulder blades.  Spockh could not prevent himself from going forward, the movement too sudden and unexpected for him to catch his footing.  He fell onto the floor, only just managing to turn enough to avoid impact to his face.  “Welcome home.”  He heard the red-shirted man’s laugh as the doors slid shut. 

Spockh struggled to his feet again, taking in the dimly lit rooms from which he’d earlier escaped.  He had been returned, like a lost sehlat that could not find its way home.  Only these quarters, despite what that man said, would never be his home.  They were his prison. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Sarek collapsed on the nearest biobed once the doors of the suite had closed, cutting off his son’s shouts.  He could not look anywhere else except for the floor.  His son’s eyes, so filled with anger were still clear in his mind.  He had seen that very same expression before, but not on his son.  It had been on Amanda’s face.  He closed his eyes, determined to master himself. 

 

_“What do you mean you’ve chosen me?”_

_“I have claimed you.”_

_“I don’t understand.”_

_Pain.  He was burning.  He could not explain quickly enough.  “You are mine.”_

_She was resigned.  “I know.  Your slave.  No one lets us forget.”_

_“No!” His voice was a shout.  “You are_ mine! _”_

_“I know that!”_

_Fire.  Burning.  He had run out of time. “Mine.”_

_He reached for her.  The water to douse his flame.  “My lord, I—”_

_“Ek’wak! I’katelau k’nash-veh!”_

_She did not yet understand much of his language.  She was confused.  She tried to back away.  He could not allow that._

_He grabbed her neck and pulled her to him.  His fingers of one hand met her psi-points as the fingers of his other tore her clothing apart.  He entered both her mind and body in one moment.  Her eyes sprang open in the terrible understanding of her violation and her paralyzing fear as he took her completely.  He had promised her that he would care for her when he had taken custody of her and her family from his brother’s estate._

_To her this was a betrayal beyond any kind imaginable._

_As their minds became forever intertwined, he tried to speak directly into her mind.  ‘Forgive me, ko-telsu.  Ask what you will of me and it will be yours.’_

 

He did not anticipate that what she had chosen to ask of him.  She did not ask for her freedom, or for passage off of the planet, or a merciful death – all of which he would have granted to her in return for saving his life in his pon farr.  She had asked for a child. 

The child who was now to suffer the same violent fate as his mother.  But this human did not have the excuse of pon farr for defense.  He had no excuse for wishing to take his son in the most degrading and intimate manner for a conqueror over his prisoner.  He only lusted after his son.  His innocent son. 

Amanda’s son. 

“Sarek?”  He looked up and saw that – without his realizing it – McCoy had come to his side.  Sarek studied him.  It took him a moment before he realized what the emotion was in the human’s eyes.  Compassion.  “Are you alright?”

“I have sent my son into the hands of that—”

McCoy stepped closer.  “Careful, Sarek.  Everything is monitored on this ship.  And if you say the wrong thing and the wrong people hear it…”

Sarek nodded, understanding.  He amended his thought.  “I have brought this suffering on my son.”

McCoy sighed before lowering himself onto the biobed next to Sarek.  “Yeah, you did.  But it was the best option you had.” 

“That is not a comforting notion.”

“I wasn’t trying to comfort you.  I’m telling you how it is.  Would you rather have Mitchell back in here beating the crap out of the kid?  Or someone else getting their hands on him?”

Sarek shook his head slowly.  “I would certainly not prefer the former’s treatment to revisit Spockh.  And I do not know how others of this vessel would conduct themselves with him.  I cannot answer your question regarding that.”

The Doctor shook his head.  He seemed frustrated.  “Listen, I know you won’t believe me, but I’m telling you.  Your kid’s better off with Kirk than anyone on this ship.  He’ll throw him around for a while, but once that junior of yours breaks and obeys like the good little prisoner he is – and you’re all still prisoners, even if you get a few passes here and there, you know – Kirk will treat his new pet just fine.”

“Based on his treatment thus far, Spockh will be his...I believe the term is ‘punching mat’ for some time.”

McCoy’s smile was so small Sarek was not certain he had seen it.  “Punching _bag_ , actually.”  Then, he was serious again.  “He’s eventually good to his bedmates, especially the ones he likes.  The shaping them to how he wants them is the part that takes the longest.”

“I presume this is an attempt to ensure they do not kill him as they fornicate or engage in other activities together?”  He did not receive a reaction from McCoy.  Sarek breathed deeply through his nose.  “What will happen to my son if he cannot model himself into your captain’s ideal plaything?”

McCoy opened his mouth to reply.  As he said the first word, a new voice came through the comm. device into the suite.  “Chapel to McCoy.”

He stood and went to the wall channel.  “Yeah?”

“You told us to let you know.  Chekov’s starting to wake up.”

“Noted, Nurse.”  He deactivated the channel. 

McCoy glanced quickly at Sarek before pulling out his communicator and talking into it.  “McCoy to Captain Kirk.”

 “Kirk here.  What’s going on, McCoy?”

“Just thought you should know: Chekov’s waking up.”

“I’m on my way.”

McCoy lowered the communicator like he was about to disconnect.  He suddenly changed his mind and raised it again.  “Oh, and Wolfe took your Vulcan.  Sure hope you gave him that order.” 

“Calm down, Doctor.  Wolfe’s taking him to my quarters.”  There was a brief pause.  “We’ll be right down.  Tell that old Vulcan woman I have some questions for her.” 

“I’m sure Chekov does, too.”  Without anything else, McCoy closed the channel.  Then, he looked at Sarek.  “You should probably come.  We’re all involved in this whole mess now.” 

Sarek stood slowly.  He crossed the room to McCoy and waited in front of the doors for the doctor to command them to open.  He heard the code entered, but not the order to execute the command.  “I’m sure the kid will be fine tonight.”

“I do not share your certainty.”

One tiny beep later the doors parted, and Sarek strode through them, heading to the family members he still had a chance of protecting. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

There was very little in terms of personal belongings in the captain’s quarters.  This was slightly disappointing to Spockh.  He had started on one wall and had worked his way through the quarters, searching for anything he could use to escape again.  There were no wall displays, no decorations.  It was as though the man had not occupied the space long, or did not have time to add personal belongings to mark it as his own. 

There were no weapons out in the open.  Spockh realized that this was wise – it prevented surprise attacks from anyone other than the captain while meeting here.  However, it also proved a hardship.  Should an intruder enter this space unexpectedly, the captain would have to key in an access code for a weapon, by which point the attacker would have fulfilled his or her goal.  Perhaps it was not as wise as he had initially thought. 

No statutes, no art, nothing.  There was the desk from which he’d earlier retrieved the phaser that he’d used to release himself from his ankle bindings.  Spockh looked at the singe mark on the floor.  Then, he went to the desk and tried to open the compartments.  They would not open.  Why would they not open?  He looked at them closely.  They were designed to open toward him, yet they did not open.  He touched them again, trying to pry them open.  They still did not move. 

Not knowing how much time he had on his own, he abandoned the desk and continued his investigation.  The chairs were moveable, but were too heavy and cumbersome to utilize as a weapon.  The best he could hope for was to throw it at the door as it admitted the captain, but he doubted this idea would succeed.  He continued on. 

There were several books near the captain’s bed.  Of all the possessions Spockh had expected this man to have on display, rarely seen bound books was not among them.  He could use one of them as a blunt object, with which he could bludgeon the man.  He picked up one of the books, feeling the texture of the cover, and curiously opening it.  The scent of the book surprised him.  It triggered fond memories he did not wish to address at the time.  He slammed the book shut and placed it back on the shelf. 

His eyes noticed the bedding.  It was possible to suffocate the captain in the sheets.  This thought horrified Spockh.  He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.  His goal was not to kill this man.  It was simply to escape from him. 

There was another door just off of the sleeping area.  Curiously, Spockh approached it.  The motion sensor activated when he got close enough and the door slid aside.  He found himself in a washroom.  It was unexpectedly luxurious.  It contained the necessary elements – a toilet, hand sink, a mirror, and a shower unit.  What surprised and disgusted him most was the unnecessarily large bathing tub.  There was nothing here that could assist him. 

He discovered the captain’s wardrobe only moments later.  He noticed that the man did not possess many items that were not for his duty uniforms.  It overwhelmed his clothing options.  However, there were several off-duty, casual items that Spockh suspected the man donned when he either exercised or was not due for duty and was here for a long period of time.  He touched the fabric of the clothing, and then touched his own.  So different. 

He did not find anything in these rooms that would aid him in escaping.  Compartments did not open for him, and he suspected they contained items that most certainly could assist him.  When he returned to the doors that led to the corridor, he was surprised to see them open at his approach.  He tried to stifle a gasp, unsuccessfully.  Instantly, Wolfe was blocking the doorway. 

“Going somewhere, Vulcan?”

Spockh saw that the man had drawn his agonizer.  He remembered that device.  “Negative.”

Wolfe smiled at him in a way that Spockh would describe as unfriendly.  “Thought not.  Get your ass back in there.”  Spockh did not move until Wolfe took a step towards him, agonizer raised.  Spockh retreated to the center of the floor and well out of his reach.  “Don’t try it again, or orders or not, you’ll earn the beating I’ll give you.”

The doors slid shut again, and Spockh heard several simple words spoken by Wolfe to a computer.  A voice command.  A moment later, a deep male voice answered the man.  “Captain’s Quarters secured.”

Spockh understood.  He was locked inside now.  His situation had grown bleak.  There was nothing left for him to do.  He lowered himself to his knees and tried to meditate.  But when he focused on his body, all he could feel were his protesting inner muscles and the cuffed bindings still connecting his wrists and encircling his ankles.  He would not be able to achieve meditation tonight.  With a hopeless sigh, he stood.

Spockh shivered as he realized the ambient temperature of the captain’s quarters.  It was cold.  Vulcan had been far hotter than these rooms, but he doubted the captain had his comfort in mind at the moment.  He needed to increase his own temperature to acceptable levels.  Against his will, his gaze wandered to the captain’s bed.  It was logical.  The bedding and covers would give him the best likelihood of achieving warmth in these cold quarters.  But he would seem all too accepting of his situation if the captain found him like that, in his bed.  It would almost give the man permission to do what he wanted with him. 

But it was logical.

Spockh went to the bed.  He looked at the covers, remembering the first time he had awoken on this ship to the captain above him, molesting him.  He pushed the memory aside for now.  He raised the sheet and covers out of his way and eased himself onto the bed.  He pulled the covers up tightly around himself. 

It took several minutes before his shivering ceased, and several more for him to begin to feel a slight increase in his temperature.  Then, suddenly, Wolfe’s voice came to his mind.  _“Warm yourself up before Kirk gets here.  He likes his meals hot before he eats them.”_  To his shame, he felt his tears trailing across his cheeks and absorbing into the foreign-scented pillow.  He began to shiver again, but not from the cold.  He was already growing warm.  Now, he understood how he related to sustenance. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Ever since he had lost consciousness T’Kyi’i had been concerned.  Only hours ago she had nearly been bonded to the male for whom she had been chosen since her seventh year.  Her ceremony had been unexpectedly halted when a drill had begun ravaging Vulcan’s surface.  Moments later, her brother and his bondmate had arrived at the place of marriage or challenge and demanded she accompany them.  Stonn and T’Pring had brought her to the Katric Ark, and soon after they had been transported onto this ship.  A short time after that, she was bonded to a human male.  She looked at him in his unconscious state.  A _young_ human male. 

He looked like a child.  She did not know anything about him!  She did not pay attention to his age, position, rank.  Nothing.  She did not even know his name!  His mind was quiet in sleep, and she dared not enter it for fear that he would be damaged.  No one was supposed to lose consciousness when they were joined in a bond.  That her new mate had was alarming.  Concerning.  Were they truly compatible? 

She looked around the large medical bay, seeing her fellow Vulcans clustered in small groups about the room.  Some of them were clearly mates, others attempted to soothe their children.  Others still sought comfort with others who could find no one from their clans.  T’Kyi’i suddenly was overwhelmed with gratitude that not only had her brother and sister-by-marriage survived, but so had her uncle, her cousin, and her clan mother. 

They were the last of the House of Surak.  The last of the noblest house of Vulcan, but with no physical estate of which to speak. 

Her unusually hazel eyes took in the cold walls of the Sickbay.  Perhaps they could make this vessel their clan’s new home.  She was already newly bonded to one of the crewmembers, this young male.  And from what little she observed before her sister-by-marriage was threatened, this male was close to the captain of this vessel.  The captain had also granted her brother his life.  And, furthermore, the captain was dangerously interested in her cousin, Spockh.   Yes.  Perhaps this cold and grey ship would become the House of Surak’s new place in the universe.  It was far more preferable than extinction, as her planet had become. 

As she continued her vigil, she had witnessed her cousin forcibly taken from Sickbay.  He struggled and shouted in a most undignified manner.  And then the whispering among their people had begun.  At first, only one word was repeated.  Kafeh.  In this Imperial Standard, it meant slave.  She did not think the term was only applicable to Spockh.  It applied to them all.  They were all captives to the Terran Empire now, and their slavery was evident in their bindings.  It did not apply only to her cousin. 

But then, the term shifted into something else.  When others realized what she had concluded in their own minds, they amended the cruel moniker for Spockh.  They changed the term from Kafeh into Guv’kafeh t’khart’lan. 

The Captain’s sex-slave. 

She glanced at her unconscious mate and then to her own bindings.  Was she to be known by a similar term soon?

A soft noise brought her from her musing.  Her attention was back to her bondmate.  The blonde nurse and the dark-skinned doctor immediately approached the bed, beside which she had seated herself.  They were studying the device above the bed that displayed her mate’s vitals.  “Guess we should tell McCoy,” muttered the man.  T’Kyi’i didn’t pay attention to the conclusion of the humans’ conversation.  Her attention was solely on her mate.  His eyelashes were beginning to flutter as the sounds he made became a little stronger. 

She felt Stonn’s and T’Pring’s presence behind her.  They were supportive of her sacrifice to save them from separation, and because she had been immediately bonded, they were now equally supportive of her human mate.  It was uncertain what her relationship with him would be like, or how it would progress.  But she was certain that if she were mistreated, Stonn would not fail to defend her honor and character. 

A flurry of activity occurred on the other side of the bed.  The gruff doctor, the one in charge, rushed over and examined the readouts of the displayed vitals.  At his side was her uncle, Sarek.  And at his side, her clan mother, T’Pau. 

She looked at the human doctor.  “Is he well?”

He looked at her.  “His readings seem fine.”  He pulled out a tiny device that whirred and hummed as he held it over her new mate’s body.  “And the tricorder seems to agree for now.” 

“Then,” T’Kyi’i continued, looking to her sister-by-marriage for confirmation, “this means he suffered no damage from our bonding?”

Before T’Pring could respond, the doctor spoke.  “I didn’t say that, missy.  I just said that according to all my readings, he seems fine.  I won’t really know until he wakes up.”  As though hearing a familiar voice was all he needed, the young human opened his eyes fully.  He looked at the face of each of them, taking them in.  T’Kyi’i was disappointed when he did not acknowledge her.  He did not react at all.  Maybe he had been damaged.  But then, he looked at T’Pau, and his entire body stiffened.  “Well, he clearly remembers you, doesn’t he?” the doctor said, glancing at T’Pau. 

“It would seem so,” T’Pau agreed.  She reached toward him, but halted her movement when he shifted away from her reach and slid himself further up the bed. 

“You did this to me.  You hurt me.  You only said it vould feel strange.  Vhat did you do?”  T’Kyi’i heard the fear in his voice.  She was concerned.  Her mate had nothing to fear from their clan mother. 

“I regret that your experience in bonding resulted in your loss of consciousness,” T’Pau said evenly.  She did not respond to the tone of the human’s voice.  “When I had touched both of your minds, and found compatibility, I did not also look for your own scale of telepathic ability.” 

The doctor glared at her clan mother.  “Most humans aren’t telepathic at all!”

“A fact I had neglected to remember,” T’Pau admitted.  “Perhaps that oversight is due to the loss of my homeworld and many of its inhabitants.  To a telepathic race, it is damaging when so many lives are lost.  We all feel that loss.”  She turned her attention to the male in the bed.  “I regret my lapse, young man.”

“So,” he began.  “I vas not what normally happens?”

Distantly, T’Kyi’i heard doors hiss open.  “No, what you had experienced is not how a bonding typically proceeds,” T’Pau began to explain.

“Then what the hell happened to him?” the newly-arrived captain demanded, having shouldered himself between T’Pau and Sarek, his fierce attention on the clan mother. 

“He is completely psi-null.  The process of bonding to a Vulcan was overwhelming to his mind.  In order to process this new sensation, he lost consciousness.”

The captain glared at her clan mother for a moment longer before turning to the patient.  “Name.  Rank.” 

Her bondmate’s focus turned to the captain and he stared for a second or two at his commanding officer.  “Name: Pavel Andreivich Chekov.  Rank: Ensign, Second Officer.”

Then, to her surprise, the captain smiled.  “I should change that.  Can’t have an ensign running the ship, right?  You’re a lieutenant now, Pav.”

He nodded slowly.  “Thank you, captain.”

The captain looked back to T’Pau.  “Psi-null.  Would that happen to everyone who bonds with a Vulcan?”  T’Kyi’i caught the quick glance he aimed in the doctor’s direction. 

T’Pau seemed to hesitate, and she knew why.  They did not speak of her uncle’s bondmate.  It was not for any of these humans to know.  “It is not always the case.”

The captain turned then to Sarek.  “What about with you?”

His response came much quicker than T’Pau’s did.  “My last bondmate was also psi-null.  She did not experience any adverse reactions to our bonding.  However, the circumstances involved were much different from that of my niece and this human.”

This seemed to satisfy the captain.  “How do you know if you’re psi-null?”

“I know that you are not, Captain,” T’Pau said.  “Not fully.  You are weaker than a Vulcan by a considerable amount, but you are certainly of a higher ability than your young officer before us.” 

He was suspicious.  “Are you telling me that I’m telepathic?”

“I am not.”  T’Pau met his gaze.  “I simply state that you would likely not have the same experience as this boy to a bonding.”

The captain looked at Sarek.  “So I shouldn’t get knocked out when I have your son later?”

Sarek shifted his weight uncomfortably for a moment before answering him.  “I do not believe you will.  But my son may—”  But the captain had already gotten the information he required from him, and had walked right up to the doctor.  T’Kyi’i still heard her uncle’s words.  “—experience significant pain.”

“I need some of those hypos,” the captain was saying to the doctor. 

“More?  Don’t overdo it on the kid.”

He held out his hand.  “The hypos,” he commanded.  “Now.”

The doctor and the captain stared at each other for a long moment before the darker-haired man turned and walked to a compartment, keyed in a code, and then returned with a small box.  He handed it to the captain.  “There’s about fifteen of them in here.  Don’t use them all the time, though.  Could kill the kid like any overdose.” 

The captain nodded.  “Noted.”  Then, he turned back to face her uncle.  “Wish me luck with your son.  I’m taking him on a test drive.”  His smile was cruel.  “Try him out before I marry him and I’m stuck with him forever.”

Sarek dared to advance on the captain.  “Captain, I ask that you are gentle with him.  He is inexperienced.”

“You think I couldn’t tell that just by looking at him?”  He laughed.  “And I’ll treat him how I want to.  He is, after all, my prisoner.  And he’s mine to do with what I want, how I want.”  He smirked at her uncle.  “Isn’t that right?”

Sarek did not move.  “You are commander of this vessel, captain.”

The captain turned from them all and began to walk out of the Sickbay.  As he was almost at the turbolift doors, where a man in a red shirt stood waiting for him, he turned and shouted to Sarek.  “Don’t worry, old man.  If your son doesn’t please me tonight, you can have him back.  I’ll try not to damage him, but he’ll have to be a good little toy for me.”  He entered the lift and disappeared. 

There was silence among their group, but all around them the whispering recommenced.  “Miss?” the soft voice of the young human said to get her attention. 

T’Kyi’i looked then at her mate, only to be surprised that he was looking directly at her.  Studying her intently.  “So,” he whispered to her as though trying not to be overheard by anyone else around them.  She could not see Stonn and T’Pring, but she would guess that their attention was not on them if he was speaking to her.  T’Pau, Sarek, and the doctor were speaking amongst themselves as well.  “Ve are…married?”

She nodded.  “To my people, a bonding is much more than a marriage.  It unites two individuals to become one entity – in mind and body.”

He nodded.  “It is all strange to me.”

She tried to look reassuring.  “It is strange for me as well.  I have not yet been bonded until now.”

They were silent for a moment.  He did not look at her face anymore.  “One entity means ve are equals, then, yes?”  She then realized at what he was looking.  He was staring instead at her hands.  “I do not vear the bindings of a captive.  You are not my captive.  I do not vant you to vear them, either.”

She swallowed.  This was most unexpected.  Maybe she would not have to suffer the same whispers that her people were spreading about her cousin.  Perhaps she would not be this man’s slave after all.  His words certainly were not implying that he desired such behavior from her.  She found herself so surprised that she could not form a single sentence.  He must have sensed that.  “What is your name?”

“T’Kyi’i, t’dahr-D’H’riset be’Shi’kahr, ko’fu t’Soryk.”  It was her full name.  She saw the expression on his face of complete lack of comprehension.  “T’Kyi’i is my given name.”

“T’Kyi’i,” he tried it.  Then, he offered a tiny smile.  “I am Pavel Andrievich Chekov, Lieutenant of the Terran Empire.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He had thought about tonight since he’d first seen his Vulcan prize.  Hours had passed.  He’d relieved Mitchell on the bridge for several hours, and dealt with Sulu’s attitude the entire time.  He’d contemplated transferring him from the bridge, but even he had to acknowledge that Sulu is the helmsman that he would rather have at that station while he was in command than anyone else.  And he was able to keep an eye on Sulu if he was on the same shift. 

But Kirk was in no mood to think about Hikaru Sulu or his attitude.  He was definitely in the mood to think about what was waiting for him in his quarters.  A smile spread across his face with every step closer he took.  His guard, Farrell, was right beside him, carrying the box of hypos from McCoy.  Kirk’s pace quickened.  “Anxious, sir?”

Kirk almost answered, but then decided the answer was probably obvious enough.  Instead he held out his hand to his guard, silently demanding the box.  It was given to him without hesitation or question.  He gave Farrell a nod in response. 

Finally, they approached his quarters.  He felt his excitement build as he saw Wolfe standing guard at the doors.  He needed to speak so that his unusually high excitement wasn’t so obviously broadcast to his personal guards.  “Wolfe,” he called.  The guard’s attention shifted in his direction as they neared him.  “Did my Vulcan behave?”

“Eventually.” 

“Eventually?” 

Wolfe nodded.  “After two escape attempts.”

Kirk was intrigued.  This Vulcan was a little bit of a fighter.  He’d break that out of him soon enough.  “Two?”

“Once trying to get away from Sickbay and the second trying to leave your quarters.”

Kirk stood directly in front of him.  He saw Farrell take his position on the other side of the door.  “And how did you convince him to stay where he is?”

“Threatened him with my agonizer.”  He nodded to Wolfe for him to continue.  “I secured your quarters once he went back inside.” 

Kirk shifted his gaze from Wolfe to Farrell.  “Well, he’ll learn to behave soon enough.”  He walked to the panel at Wolfe’s side, and unsecured the door to his quarters with his voice command. Without looking at his guards, he gave them his last order before he saw them again.  “He doesn’t come out of here without me.”

“Understood, Captain,” Farrell acknowledged. 

The doors quietly hissed open.  He had only stepped one foot into his quarters when Wolfe spoke.  “Enjoy your night, Captain.”

And he turned to look at his guard.  Well, his Vulcan’s new guard.  He tucked the box of hypos under his arm, and smirked at Wolfe.  “Oh, I intend to.”  Then, the doors hissed close.  A moment later, he heard the muffled voice command before the male computerized announcement sounded that the quarters were again secured. 

Leaving him finally alone with his prize. 

He looked around, uncertain where the Vulcan could be hiding himself in order to ambush him.  Just because he was meek in Sickbay with so many people around, it did not mean he would be so now.  Kirk went to the small table to the left of the doors, setting the hypo box down.  His next stop was at his desk, where he opened his topmost drawer, and deposited his weapons inside of it – his agonizer and his dagger. 

The lights had not been activated.   Of course they were not activated.  They obeyed his voice command.  They would certainly not listen to a Vulcan’s.  They hadn’t even listened to Marlena.  He slowly and silently went into the bathroom, intending to take care of some business before he got around to much more enjoyable business.  And he could still do this in the dark. 

Kirk had to admit to being slightly surprised to discover that the Vulcan had not hidden himself in this room, knowing it was a necessary place to go once in a while.  He didn’t even command the lights to power up while he pissed, sanitized his hands, and quickly ran his wet hands over his face.  He ran his wet fingers through his hair.  He liked his hair like this, uncontrolled.  With the easy stroll of a man in no hurry, he exited the bathroom.  It was only then, that he commanded the lights to activate.  “Lights, five percent.”  They hummed quietly, and his attention went immediately to his bed. 

Only once had Marlena slept in his bed.  He did not like that she had entered his quarters without him.  That she had even been there without him.  But he could not contain the small smile as he saw this innocent young Vulcan buried under the bedding, his dark-haired head sinking into his pillow was the only part of him visible.  Kirk came around the corner of the bed and looked down at him in the dim lighting. 

The Vulcan was beautiful.  Even his dried tears were beautiful.  Kirk lowered himself down to sit beside him on the bed, above all of the covers.  The Vulcan stirred but did not awaken.  With his index finger, Kirk went to trace the path left behind by this creature’s tears. 

But just as he was about to touch his skin, the long eyelashes rose from his cheeks and Kirk found himself staring into dark eyes.  He would not admit to being surprised.  “Hello, little one.”  The Vulcan did not move.  Kirk was certain he was holding his breath he was so still.  “You look good like this, in my bed.”  Then, he decided that he had no reason not to touch him.  “Like you belong there.”  He ran his finger down the Vulcan’s cheek, then turned his hand and brushed the back of his fingers along his jawline.  “Like dinner to a starving man.” 

That earned him a reaction.  The Vulcan began to shake underneath the covers.  One corner of Kirk’s mouth lifted in a half smile.  He continued to stare into the Vulcan’s eyes as he undid the knot of his gold sash at his waist.  He tossed it away, but did not take his eyes from his captive.  Then, Kirk slowly peeled away his command shirt, pleased that the Vulcan’s shaking had increased.  “And I am starving.” 


	8. Union

Striking with the speed of an angry snake, Kirk’s hand was at the back of the Vulcan’s skull and he pulled him forward to meet their lips like an ocean wave crashing into a rocky cliff face.  The alien was rigid in his terror, and this was not ideal at the moment for the aggressor.  Kirk had been looking forward to this encounter since beaming the Vulcan aboard, and this was his reward?  A stiff, unbending, uncooperative youth?  He broke the kiss only long enough to command his captive.  “Relax,” he growled.  Then, Kirk brought his lips against the tightly closed ones of the young male, who tried to pull away from the contact.  He did not get far with Kirk’s hand still holding him in place.  Smiling into the kiss, Kirk maneuvered himself further onto the bed, his weight pulling the bedding tightly around the Vulcan so that he could not even shift his weight on the mattress.  He laughed deep in his throat as his new bedmate tried to twist himself free.  “Won’t work, little one.  I told you, you wouldn’t get away again.” 

He received a fierce glare from the Vulcan beneath him.  He smiled down at him.  “Stop fighting.  Just relax.  It won’t be so bad for you that way.”  He pressed his lips to the Vulcan’s cheekbone.  “Do you want me to hurt you?”

He saw the swallow before the voice responded.  “I do not.”

Kirk’s smile grew.  “Then, you should relax.”  He kissed the other cheekbone.  “Because you won’t avoid this tonight.  Not when I’ve been looking forward to it this long.”  With only space enough to breathe between their mouths, he spoke.  “Now, open your mouth when I kiss you.”  He met the fire in the Vulcan’s eyes with his icy authority.  “Or I will punish you for disobeying me.”

He saw the thought process occurring behind those eyes.  Saw the Vulcan working through which option – obey or disobey – to take.  Kirk shook his head when the decision was made and given to him by the firm way in which his prey’s lips pressed together stubbornly, daringly.  And Kirk did not refuse such a dare.  His free hand curled around the Vulcan’s throat and quickly applied pressure.  “You’ll open your pretty lips when you want to breathe easier.”  He saw the struggle to resist as he tightened his hold around the Vulcan’s neck.  He heard him trying to breathe through his nose.  Finally, he had no choice but to part his lips as he tried desperately to get enough air into his lungs.  Kirk crashed his lips against the Vulcan’s again as soon as the first gasp was attempted. 

And he was rewarded with a burst of pain as the Vulcan bit his lower lip as hard as he could.  With an aborted cry, Kirk reared back, seeing for an instant the flash of victory in the Vulcan’s eyes before a flinch replaced it as Kirk drew back his fist to strike him. 

But the blow never landed.  Kirk lowered his fist, and instead cupped the cheek that he would have hit.  He ran his thumb along the cheekbone.  “Consider that a warning.  You’re lucky I want you unmarked for now.  I’m not about to damage you so soon after you were made brand new for me.”  He released the back of his skull, and stroked his fingers along the pale column of the Vulcan’s throat.  “But if you try something like that again, as much as I don’t want to do it, I will hurt you.”

The Vulcan was clearly in no mood to submit just yet.  Maybe a small kindness would soften him.  “Have you had anything to eat since you’ve been aboard?” The question was clearly a surprise if the dark slanted eyebrows coming together meant the same as it did when humans made the expression.  He decided that it was as close to a confirmation that he would likely get from him for now.  “I haven’t had anything either.”  He tried to smile softly at him, but had no idea if he was succeeding.  From the unease in the expression below him, he was not doing very well at coaxing the Vulcan to become an active participant in their interaction. 

Kirk began to raise himself from the bed in order to go and key in a meal from his personal replicator.  “Go around that wall and sit down.  We’re having something to eat.” 

“I will not go.”

He turned to face his captive, who had yet to move out of the bed.  He still remained buried under the bedding, but he was now watching Kirk closely, knowing that he was the prey in their situation, yet having the nerve to resist his predator.  Kirk was impressed by him.  He did not want to admit it even to himself, but the bite to his lip was a bold and daring move on the Vulcan’s part.  His defiance was intriguing but this little Vulcan had to understand something very important.  “The faster you learn this, little one, the longer you’ll stay alive: This is my ship, my crew, all under my orders.  And that includes you.  You’re a captive of the Terran Empire, now.  You will do what I tell you.”

He turned back to the replicator before he could give the Vulcan time to protest again.  He keyed in two identical meals – one of his favorites – and took it to the small round table on the other side of the meshed metal room divider.  He hadn’t heard movement from the bed, which only meant one thing.  The stubborn Vulcan had not yet risen.  Kirk didn’t even look toward him as he snapped, “Get over here and eat.”  This time, he did look through the mesh of the divider.  The Vulcan was glaring at him through it, meeting his gaze firmly. 

Kirk touched his fingertips to the box of hypos, wondering when the time would come that he would have to administer the first dose.  He was not going to be lured into thinking this innocent Vulcan was helpless again.  Just in case, he got one out of the box and tucked it under the rim of his plate, closest to his chair.  One wrong move on that Vulcan’s part and he would find himself submitting very nicely.  As he leisurely took the box to his desk, keying in a drawer’s code in order to store the remaining hypos inside, he spoke.  “It’s your choice, really.  You can stay there in my bed, just waiting for me to have dinner before I come over there and fuck you.  Or you can sit your pretty ass over here and have something to eat, too.  I haven’t given you a way to get your own food here, which means if you don’t eat something now you won’t until some point tomorrow.”  He closed and locked the drawer containing the hypos before slowly walking back to stand at the corner of the bed, gazing down at the still-trembling Vulcan.  “And you will be tired after I’m done with you, so if you want a little strength before I’m inside you, get up, go over there, and eat something.  It’s up to you.” 

He let his eyes take in the figure on his bed, seeing the shape despite the bedding covering him.  Kirk breathed deeply as he felt himself grow hard in his lower uniform.  Had this Vulcan been Marlena – and had she been as stubbornly resistant as he was being – he would have begun lewdly palming himself to clearly show his intention.  He would have had his hands tangled in her long hair as his cock was buried in her mouth.  Then again, Marlena had certainly not been a virgin when he’d taken her to his bed.  And this Vulcan, defiant and unwilling though he may be, obviously was untouched.  Kirk had not anticipated taking anyone with this painful level of arousal in years.  He would never have guessed his fierce desire would be brought out by a male Vulcan.  He licked his lips and forced himself to turn away from the black-haired beauty before him.  If he didn’t walk away, he would not be able to resist tearing the bedding from his body, ripping his clothes away, and taking him until he had the Vulcan unconscious from it.  He had to keep talking, or this would never become what he needed it to be. 

An alliance of convenience.  Like Bones and the kid’s father.  Bodyguard and whore all in one.  He had a plan.  He had to make it reality.  Fucking this Vulcan was all he had thought about since he’d seen him, but there was more to the situation than simply having an exotic new bedmate.  There was so much more at stake. 

And so Kirk talked as he went back to the table where his dinner waited.  “I don’t really care, because whether you decide to eat or not, there is only one way tonight is going to end.  You’re going to be stripped, on your front, and begging me for more.” 

“You are mistaken in your anticipated scenario.”  The answering voice came from approximately the location of the metal divider.  Kirk spun to face him.  The Vulcan’s voice was as rigid as his stance.  “I will be requesting for you to cease your actions long before this evening’s…activity concludes.”

Kirk gestured to the seat closest to the Vulcan, who slowly approached it.  “Well, we’ll just see who’s wrong soon enough, won’t we?”  He followed him to stand just beside him as the pale alien lowered himself into the plush chair.  Kirk hooked a finger underneath the Vulcan’s chin and urged him to look up at him.  “And it’ll be you.  I’ve never gotten a complaint from anyone I’ve had.”

The Vulcan was clearly refusing to show fear.  In fact, his resolve seemed to grow stronger since he stood from the bed.  “There is a first time for everything.” 

Kirk smiled.  “Like your first time.”

A tongue, slightly greener in color than Kirk’s own, darted out to moisten his lips.  It was then that Kirk finally noticed.  “So,” he whispered admiringly as he touched his thumb to the full lower lip.  “The doctor obeyed orders and healed you.”  He kept his finger hooked under the chin, while his other hand explored the tunic covering the Vulcan’s upper body, keeping his gaze planted on the brown eyes before him.  Soon enough he unfastened it using touch alone.  The fabric parted like drawn curtains, revealing the Vulcan’s chest for the first time.  It was flawless and bruise-free.  He had every intention of this Vulcan’s body remaining unblemished like this.  He slowly brought his hand forward to touch the flesh softly with his fingertips.  He felt the Vulcan shiver at his touch.  With the slow curiosity of a scientist, Kirk caught the fabric resting on one smooth shoulder and forced it away as he ran his hand down the arm that had been concealed beneath.  “Bones did a good job on you,” he praised.  He retraced his way back to the shoulder, stroking just his fingertips along the collarbone.  He typically favored smooth-skinned bedmates, and he found it oddly comforting that this Vulcan fulfilled that preference.  He stroked the skin of the Vulcan’s chest, relishing in the smoothness and finding it pleasing on his prize.  He looked back into the Vulcan’s eyes, as he urged the fabric off of his other shoulder, the open tunic falling away from his upper body completely. 

Kirk allowed a half smile.  He was pleased with his choice of bedmate so far.  “You’re beautiful.”  His smile grew when he noticed a splash of pale green spread on the pale cheeks below him.  Kirk licked his lips.  He wanted to see that blush for many more nights beyond this.  “I can’t wait to devour you.”  He tilted the blushing face up toward him further and lowered himself to kiss him. 

The Vulcan jerked his head violently out of his grasp and he was speaking before Kirk could find his own voice.  “And yet you will have to wait, as it is impossible to devour both your evening sustenance and me simultaneously.”

Kirk tried not to let his amusement show.  He didn’t remember reading that Vulcans had a sense of humor in any way.  But this one did apparently.  And if it was not intended as humor, then it was definitely a sharp-wit.  Either one was something Kirk appreciated.  He chuckled to himself.  “That is true,” he agreed, hoping to see the Vulcan relish in his verbal victory.  He was not disappointed.  “Unless,” he added, seeing the question forming in those unusually expressive brown eyes, “they happen to be the same thing.” 

He shook his head as he went to seat himself in the other chair.  “But, you’re right.”  He pointed picked up his utensils and began to slice into his chicken breast.  “We should let the anticipation build over dinner.”  As he turned his attention back to his food, he did not need to look at the Vulcan to know that those dark eyes were watching him intently. 

He could almost feel the Vulcan’s gaze on him.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

The question surprised him.  “I beg your pardon, Doctor?”

The dark-haired human’s suspicious stare did not waver.  “You heard me.”  He had taken Sarek out of Sickbay and walked with him through the corridors of the ship.  Sarek had asked him what had prompted this excursion and McCoy had claimed that he was, “getting claustrophobic in my own sickbay with all you Vulcans cluttering up the place.”  It was only when they had reached the next deck level that the doctor had supplied another reason.  That he had some questions for Sarek that he didn’t feel like asking in their previous location.  He wanted to ask him alone. 

Sarek knew they were never truly alone due to the constant monitoring on the ship.  But he understood this human’s meaning.  The doctor wished to speak to him outside the company of other Vulcans and away from his own staff.  Sarek would not admit to his own curiosity in what the man could possibly wish to ask of him, but when he asked it, he found that the man surprised him. 

The doctor sighed loudly, perhaps in frustration at having to repeat himself.  “I’ve studied the First Captives, you know.  Everyone in the medical divisions has to.  It’s our introduction to non-human physiology and biology.  I know what to look for.  Now, I might not know how to scan for it, exactly, but I know when something’s not right.  What I want to know is why your son isn’t reading like them.”

Even while walking in the nearly empty corridors of this vessel, the ISS Enterprise is what he believed it was named, Sarek was reluctant to answer McCoy truthfully.  There were some things that were simply not discussed in public – even if it seemed quite deserted.  “I would prefer to speak of this matter in a place of relative privacy.”

The calculating look he received was unnerving.  “You got something to hide?”

Sarek shook his head once.  “It is something of which I do not speak openly.” 

McCoy nodded sharply.  “My quarters aren’t far.  We’ll go there.” 

“I thank you, Doctor.”  McCoy turned and led Sarek silently.  It was far less time than the Vulcan had anticipated before he was being ushered into his future mate’s living space.  He was pleased to note that the human doctor seemed to be a scholarly man.  Directly in front of him stood a desk piled messily with padds and files.  There was an abandoned glass of some sort of alcohol beside the impressive workload. 

McCoy sat down in the chair at the desk with a relieved sigh.  Sarek assumed that the man was grateful to be off of his feet, if only for a brief time.  The human looked at him and pointed to the chair nestled in the corner of the room, directly to Sarek’s left.  “Well, sit down and we’ll talk.” 

Sarek looked at the luxuriously cushioned chair the doctor had indicated, then faced the doctor and resolutely balanced his stance to remain standing.  “I must assume that the—”  He hesitated on the term, but managed to say it.  “—First Captives of whom you speak are the three members of my people that had attempted to establish relations with your own species.” 

McCoy nodded.  “Yeah.  One of them Cochrane shot.” 

“The other male was tortured until he succumbed to death.”

“They dissected him alive.”

Sarek would not reveal his disgust that one sentient being could perform such cruelty on another.  It was almost incomprehensible.  “And the female—”

McCoy interrupted.  “Died shortly after the male.  No one knows why.”

“It is a principle that had once been described to me as ‘dying of a broken heart.’  I did not understand the phrase for some time until my teacher supplied me with several examples.”  He saw McCoy’s expression become a mixture of confusion and interest.  “But among my people it is a condition that affects the individual who must endure the death of their mate.  It occurs through their bond.  If it is severed unexpectedly, the one remaining alive cannot endure the pain of that separation.  It is fatal in many cases.  I suspect that the female to whom you refer could not endure her broken bond to her mate when he was killed.”

“Kind of like you were saying about the pregnant woman and her mate?”

“Precisely.” 

McCoy nodded.  Sarek let him absorb this new information for a moment.  “As to what you wish to know of my son,” Sarek’s voice caught in his throat.  He was uncertain just how much he should reveal to this man.  If he revealed too much, then the delicate agreement he had arranged could be voided.  He could not risk losing that protection.  He would only reveal what he must.  “There are many differences between Spockh and other Vulcans.  He is a unique case, even among my people.”

McCoy’s eyes narrowed.  “Why?”

“My bondmate, Spockh’s mother, was not a Vulcan.”

McCoy sat straighter in his chair.  Sarek realized he now had the doctor’s full attention.  “What?” the man asked, shocked.  “What the hell was she then?”

He closed his eyes and saw her in his mind.  He saw his bondmate, at first his unwilling bondmate, but then the woman who quickly became his support, his encouragement, his everything.  He saw his Amanda, with her very expressive eyes, her delicate hands that loved nothing more than to stroke the pages of a book.  Her lips that taught him and the immediate members of his clan how to speak Imperial Standard.  She had saved his life during his Time.  Only his clan knew her human language, as it was their – in most cases, reluctant – duty to accept her into their clan and thus attempt to communicate with her.  She had learned eventually to speak Vulcan, but they would speak with her in the standard language of her people.  And her lessons of that language to his family in her death were now keeping Sarek’s clan and her loved ones safe in their captivity. 

“My bondmate was Human.” 

For a moment, Doctor McCoy did not react.  He stared at Sarek.  Perhaps he was studying him, trying to figure out if what he had just revealed was in fact a lie.  But Sarek had long grown accustomed to this disbelief when he shared his bondmate’s heritage with another.  He has had many years of practice facing the stares of disbelief and outrage. However, where the majority of verbal reactions had been some sort of slur against Amanda, or a degrading and insulting title for himself, McCoy chose instead on a question.  “And how did that happen?”

Sarek did not immediately answer verbally.  Instead, he contemplated if his instinct was the proper reaction.  When he looked at McCoy and saw the genuine curiosity in his expression, he knew that it was not the ideal course of action, but it was the most effective.  Working within his limited movement afforded to him by his bindings, Sarek pushed the plush chair to rest directly to the left of the chair in which McCoy sat.  With as much dignity as he could muster, he lowered himself onto it, looking directly at the doctor.  “Perhaps showing you would be the best method in which to answer your question.” 

The curiosity vanished.  Wariness and suspicion took shape in its place.  “What do you mean by show?”

Sarek sighed quietly.  “I would have your thoughts, and you would have mine.  I would join our minds together in order to effectively and efficiently explain how my brother’s former slave became my bondmate.  It is quite a lengthy narrative, and through the joining of our minds, that narrative will be reduced to its core moments, everything important pertaining to our time together, and it will also exhibit for you a glimpse into the future of our imminent relations.” 

Sarek believed this was sufficient.  He raised his bound hands toward the doctor’s face, but he halted when the human retreated out of reach.  “What is this?  Like some sort of Vulcan voo-doo or something?”

He felt his brow furrow.  “I do not know what voo-doo is, and it is therefore irrelevant.  What I had described to you was a sharing of consciousness.  A joining.”  Then, he knew how to make him understand.  “It is similar to what you saw between the young human that bonded to my niece.” 

McCoy nodded.  “So you’re going to read my mind?”

“I will not,” he tried to reassure him.  “I will only share my thoughts with you.  In time, I hope that you will come to trust me with yours.” 

McCoy thought on his words for a longer time than Sarek believed he had the patience for before he nodded.  “Okay.”  He saw him look at his outstretched hands.  “So you have to touch me for this?”

Sarek nodded.  “I must touch specific points on your face in order to initiate a successful meld.”

“A what?” 

“I apologize, doctor.  I did not reveal to you this process’s name.  My people call the joining of our minds a mind-meld.” 

McCoy returned to staring at him.  “Huh!” he exclaimed with a tone Sarek recognized as astonishment-mixed-with-bewilderment.  He had heard it often from Amanda.  He hoped his ways would become as comprehensible to this doctor as they had for her, in time.  McCoy leaned toward him and offered his face to Sarek, who noted the slight hesitancy in the gesture. 

“I will make every attempt not to injure you.”

McCoy snorted.  “Gee, thanks.” 

Sarek pressed his fingers to the human’s face and closed his eyes, centering his own mind, readying himself for the meld.  “I first saw my Amanda when I had visited my brother’s estate, shortly after he had claimed possession of her and her family to become members of his household staff.”  He pressed his fingers into McCoy’s skin, and drove them both into his bittersweet memories of his deceased bondmate. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He did not move to lift his utensils. 

Spockh recognized the food item on the plate, though he had never tasted it before.  He stared at it, uncertain as to which of his options would place him in this captain’s fury the least.  He could either refuse to consume this animal flesh, or he could consume it and become remarkably ill soon after his stomach began to attempt to digest it.  Refusal would most likely result in the captain taking some form of aggressive action against him for blatant defiance.  And simple refusal would not ensure that whatever the next meal the captain would decide to provide him with – that is, when he decided to do so – would be lacking in animal meat and thus compatible with his digestive system.  If he were to consume this meal, Spockh knew that within a very brief amount of time he would become violently ill, resulting in expulsion of the meat via regurgitation or an urgent need to use the facilities in order to evacuate his bowels. 

Neither option was appealing.  However, Spockh realized that the captain had one goal for the evening – and that was fornication.  Spockh quickly estimated that the captain would be quicker to forgive and accommodate his dietary restrictions were he to refuse to consume this meat, and – so long as the human provided the opportunity – explain the biological reason for his refusal.  The captain would be highly displeased and irritable were he denied the intercourse due to Spockh’s inability to control his body as it struggled with a substance it could neither accept nor process.  Being so ill would make him an undesirable bed-partner.  And as loathe as he was to succumb to this captain’s base animalistic urges, to surrender his innocence and his body to this human, he found the idea of the captain’s sure rage in his guaranteed illness far less desirable a situation in which to be. 

Apparently, he had thought on this dilemma for too long.  “Is there a problem?”

Spockh glanced at the captain.  The man sat perfectly still, utensils half-raised, with the exception of his mouth.  He chewed on the meat as he glared at Spockh.  Spockh decided on which course to take.  He did not prefer either option, but this one would provide him with the least foreseeable harm.  Lowering his gaze back to the meal before him, he quietly responded.  “I cannot consume this.” 

The utensils were slammed onto the table, and the food in his mouth was swallowed before a harsh word was spoken.  “Why?”

Spockh’s confidence in choosing this option was lessening considerably.  Perhaps this would not prevent the captain’s rage from striking him as much as he had calculated.  “It—”  He choked on his own voice.  But he recovered as quickly as he could.  “It contains meat.” 

The stare that pinned him in his place lacked understanding.  “Then, you’ll starve.” 

An opportunity to point out the man’s illogic that Spockh could not refuse.  “If I am denied sustenance, then I will die.  In observation of the agreement we have arranged with my father and the doctor, it stands to reason that your doctor will also die by my father’s hands.  Are you willing to risk his life simply because you do not wish to provide an alternative meal for me when I inform you that I cannot consume this meat?”

The man bristled in his seat, taking in a deep breath at the question, and recognizing the challenge in the words.  Spockh realized that he may have won this argument, but the end result of the evening did not change.  He would still be at this man’s physical whims.  The cold blue eyes stabbed his own.  “If you expect me to woo you or something because I struck a deal, you are very much mistaken, little one.” 

Spockh met his gaze with much more outward confidence than he experienced in his mind.  “I do not believe that tenderness is a trait you understand, therefore I cannot expect you to demonstrate it, especially to me whom I know you think is below you.”

“Oh you are below me.”  He smirked.  “At least you will be soon.” 

Spockh did not take the bait.  He did want to eat, and that was the current and pressing issue.  They stared at one another for a long moment, trying to gauge each other’s intentions.  Finally, the captain looked at the untouched meal in front of Spockh.  “What do you want instead then?”

Spockh did not wish to challenge him further at the moment.  He knew he had achieved a very small victory, and did not desire to jeopardize it.  “Simply a meal from which meat is absent.  I will leave the choice to your discretion.” 

The human almost leaped from his seat and went to the replicator again, this time nearly punching the touch-screen with his fingers.  Spockh marveled that he did not injure himself.  A moment later, he was returning to the table.  He shoved the plate of meat aside and, without gentleness, set the new meal in front of him.  “Eat it.”

Spockh examined it.  It was a colorful meal for certain.  It seemed to contain several varieties of vegetables folded into a sort of grain.  Inquisitively, he asked the question before he could censor himself.  “What is it?” 

His dinner companion had reseated himself and was tearing into the meat that Spockh had rejected.  After nearly choking on it as he swallowed angrily he growled, “Something without meat, little prince.  Now shut the hell up and eat it.” 

Knowing the term was meant insultingly in reference to what the man most likely believed his objectionable dining requirements, Spockh also found it amusing that the term could indeed apply to him.  He was, after all, Surak’s descendant and now one of the very few survivors of that most noble Vulcan line.  Prince was quite an appropriate equivalent in human language.  And as such, he was determined to endure this night with as much dignity as he could, despite acknowledging to himself that it was highly improbable to maintain a sense of dignity and honor while experiencing company and events so dishonorable. 

Deliberately, he picked up his utensils, and began to eat.  He glanced at the captain’s meal, taking note that he had already finished his own food and was nearly halfway finished with Spockh’s rejected meat portion.  He hesitantly tasted this second offering from the captain, and found that it was surprisingly pleasant.  It was easy to chew, and yet flavorful.  The grain was seasoned well and complimented the – most likely Terran – vegetables.  He secured several of them on the tines of the fork and chewed, testing their flavor with as much attention as he had examined the taste qualities of the grain. 

His examination of his food did not go unnoticed by his hosting captor.  The human stared at him, watching him eat.  At this realization, Spockh hesitated only long enough to pause his actions momentarily.  His unexpected level of comfort with his captor vanished instantly at the man’s cold gaze.  Unlike his previous mouthfuls, Spockh struggled to swallow this one, hyperaware of being observed like a specimen. 

“Do you always eat that slow?”

Spockh briefly wondered if this was rhetorical, and if he was meant to respond.  He opened his mouth to reply, but decided he should not speak.  Instead, he chose to occupy his mouth with another forkful of his meal.  It may allow him time to determine if this man expected an answer. 

“I asked you a question, Vulcan.”  The blue eyes hardened. 

Apparently, a response was required.  Spockh did not know what the man wished him to say.  “I do not eat quickly nor slowly,” he began cautiously.  “I consume my sustenance at a pace that is most beneficial to ensure that my digestion progresses in an optimal and healthy manner.” 

The captain breathed deeply through his nose.  “Eat faster.” 

“I am uncertain how my body is responding to this foreign meal that you have provided.  To eat faster may compromise my stomach and intestines, which are unaccustomed to what I am consuming.”

The human grabbed his drink and drained it quickly.  Almost at the moment he swallowed, he spoke.  “Two choices: Eat faster or not at all.”

Spockh could not stop his mouth from opening in surprised offense by this man.  How could he not see his reasoning?  Did he want him to be ill?  Spockh did not believe it was desirable for one’s sexual partner to be in such an unwell state.  Was this different with humans?  He was jarred from these questions as the captain abruptly stood from his chair.  Before he had even rounded the table, Spockh’s upper arm was grabbed in one of the captain’s hands.  In the other was a familiar hypospray that he wielded like a weapon as he charged at him.  “No, wait, please!”

“I’m done waiting,” he snapped.  Spockh gasped as the hypo was slammed into his neck, its contents hissed into his body.  Immediately, he felt his muscles become unresponsive to his own wishes.  He looked up at the captain, trying to silently plead for mercy, though all he saw was the blatant lust glaring back at him. 

He hauled Spockh up from the chair, unconcerned that his tunic lay abandoned on the very same chair from which he’d been removed.  Spockh tripped over his sluggish feet, but the human’s firm grip kept him from falling to the floor.  He was spun to face the captain, and pushed against the mesh divider, the metal cold against his bare back.  Spockh could not contain the gasp at the sensation.  Before he had drawn another breath, it was stolen by the human’s lips crashing onto his own.  He could not move his surprise was so complete.  But that surprise turned quickly to discomfort and unease as he felt one hand roughly battling the fastenings of his trousers.  His lips were freed and Spockh breathed as though he were surfacing from a body of water for long-denied air.  “I’ve waited long enough for this.”  The captain’s mouth had found a new place to abuse, now, and it was at his jaw, dangerously close to his earlobe.  As the human’s lips latched onto him and he began to suck on his pulse point, Spockh did not recognize the sound he made. 

He could not decide if he had sighed or sobbed.

But he knew he had sobbed, only once and very briefly, when he felt the cool air of the captain’s quarters against his most intimate flesh as his remaining clothing was torn from his body to pool at his feet on the floor.  Spockh was tugged forward, and he instinctively knew he could either step out of the pile of clothing, or end up falling into his captor’s arms.  The choice was simple.  He would not go to this man’s bed willingly. 

This defiance and resistance did not have a long life as the captain spun Spockh again to face away from him, gripping both of his upper arms tightly, using his hold on him to push him forward to the waiting and unmade bed.  The sight of where he would be forced to surrender his body to this young captain caused Spockh to stiffen.  He still had some control of his body.  The drug this time must not be as potent as the previous injections.  Or he was becoming immune to its effects. 

Spockh had little time to wonder about this before he was pushed forward roughly, his sense of balance compromised, leaving him no choice but to catch himself on his bound hands to prevent his face from impacting the bed and possibly being immobile.  He doubted, however that the captain would allow him to suffocate at this point, even if he had failed to prevent the impact.  He knew what was about to happen, and he knew that he could do nothing to prevent it, but he was determined not to give up his strength.  He would remind this man that he did not agree to this, even if he were currently lying prone and nude on display for this human captain. 

With as much cooperation from his body as he could muster, Spockh managed to bring his legs together.  This action had the exact opposite expected reaction from the human.  He was softly chuckling.  Spockh heard the rustle of fabric behind and above him, and he knew that the human was removing what was left of his own clothing.  He heard the sound of the discarded garments landing on the floor after they were tossed from where the human stood at the foot of the bed. 

Then there was no movement.  Only the rhythmic breathing of the room’s other occupant.  In deeply through the nose, and a deep, long sigh through the mouth.  Spockh often breathed similarly when he was about to commence his meditation.  Was the captain attempting to calm himself?  He did not place his trust in him yet.  He would not believe that this man did not wish to hurt him until his actions supported that claim.  And until then, he would wait, wait for the pain.  He braced himself, trying to distance his mind from what was to come. 

He was unable to do so as he heard a strange sound followed by a loss of pressure at his ankle.  Spockh did not understand for a moment.  The same sensation occurred on his other leg.  Two dull thuds sounded behind him.  Something had landed on the floor.  Then, hands slowly touched and rubbed the skin of his ankles.  Spockh suddenly realized that this man had removed the separated bindings.  As he struggled to comprehend this moment, and the captian’s motivation, he suddenly felt a softness that was most assuredly not hands touch his skin where the cold and harsh metal had been. 

The captain kissed him where he had been bound.  Spockh shifted further up onto the bed to escape the touch, but stilled when he felt the man grab both of his legs at his calf muscles and firmly press his legs into the bed.  He understood what the human did not say. 

Do not move.

Spockh knew when the captain could tell that his silent command had been understood when those hands stroked down his legs and back to his ankles, where they continued to move against his flesh, soothing him where the bindings had recently been around his ankles.  They moved to his left ankle, repeating the same process that they had on the right.  Lips touched him again, precisely where the bindings had chafed his skin. 

Then, the hands began to travel upward on his body.  They slid up from his ankles, into the groove of his knees, curving along his outer thighs.  Spockh started in surprise as the captain kissed the right swell of his buttocks.  No one had touched him there, never mind put their lips upon his flesh there.  As he reacted to this unexpected contact, the hands now grasping his hips increased pressure and held him in place.  Again, a silent command for obedience.  Spockh swallowed and tried to hold himself still. 

Something wet traced his spine as the hands continued up his body, framing him in their ascent, the slow touch sending tremors through Spockh’s inexperienced body.  It was the captain’s tongue traveling the length of his spine.  He noticed that his respiration had increased slightly.  The human’s calloused hands stroked away from his sides and along his shoulder blades before they drifted along his upper arms.  The human then lowered his body onto his. 

Spockh gasped as their bodies fully contacted each other’s, feeling the human’s skin against his own, aware of each muscle moving against him, particularly aware of one specific part of the human’s body as it twitched against the crease of his posterior.  He began to shiver.  So did the man above him. 

Spockh was focused on the sensation of so much bare skin meeting his own that he did not realize that his bound hands had been raised just above his head until he heard the sound he now knew to be a deactivation of the bindings.  The cuffs fell apart and his hands were separated and freed.  The captain tossed the bindings away from the bed, and distantly, Spockh heard them land on the floor.  No sooner had the sound registered to him that one of his wrists were pressed against the captain’s lips, as his other wrist was held loosely in the human’s other hand.  The man lowered the wrist he had been kissing back to the bed, pinning it there, as he transferred his lips to Spockh’s left wrist. 

When he rotated Spockh’s wrist and kissed the skin just below the palm, Spockh sighed.  The human’s smile was wicked as he looked at him.  “Still think you’ll be begging me to stop, little one?”  Spockh tried to control his body, but he could not.  His shaking increased.  The human kissed his jaw again just near his ear.  “Spread your legs.”  Another kiss.  “If you don’t, I’ll make sure something happens to the ones you care about.  Like your father.”  His tongue flicked his earlobe.  Spockh trembled.  “Or that pregnant bitch you seem to care a lot about.”  Another kiss to his jaw.  “Open your legs,” he demanded.  “It’s not such a difficult thing, is it?  To give your body to me so—”  The captain abruptly stopped speaking.  With a growl, the human surged forward and teased Spockh’s earlobe. 

Spockh did not even bother to try to contain his sob as he reluctantly and slowly allowed his legs to part, feeling the captain’s lower body fold into the space they created.  Immediately, he felt the small undulations of the man’s hips, felt the hard pillar of human flesh rubbing more insistently against him, in the crevice of his rear.  The time he had been dreading had arrived. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

If he hadn’t already been seated, he was sure that he would have fallen over as Sarek ended the connection between their minds.  McCoy placed one hand on his desk to keep himself steady just in case he still might fall out of his chair.  He catalogued his physical state as best he could.  Was it normal?  Rapid heartbeat.  Labored breathing.  Skin damp with sweat.  With all of his knowledge on his own physiology, McCoy had no idea if this reaction could have been considered normal for a human after having experienced what he had.  What had Sarek called it?  A mind melt?  It sure felt like his brain was melting.  No, melt wasn’t the word, but it was close to that. 

“Are you unwell?” Sarek asked.  Earlier today, McCoy would not have been able to differentiate between vocal emotions in Vulcan speech.  But having spent a lot of time with this one in particular, he recognized the concern in that tone. 

But that wasn’t what had stunned him most about this Vulcan.  What he had shared with him in his mind had his attention and his thought.  “You actually loved her.”

Sarek gave a barely perceptible nod.  “She was my bondmate.” 

McCoy supposed that to a Vulcan that simple answer would explain everything perfectly.  But it didn’t explain it well enough for him, a human.  He wondered if Sarek’s human mate came to accept that as explanation enough.  If she had grown used to it.  “But, what you showed me, you—”  He gestured helplessly with his hands, trying to put it in the right words.  There was no other way to say it.  “You raped her.”

Sarek visibly deflated before him.  “No, Doctor.  It was not rape.  It was the pon farr.”

McCoy ignored the last few words.  He was concerned about one word at the moment.  “I’m pretty sure that rape is when you force an unwilling person into having sex.  And from what you showed me, she was certainly not willing.” 

Sarek looked down at his hands for a long moment before he replied.  “I will not debate you in your interpretation from your human point of view.  But I assure you, that though I could not control myself, and that she was at first unwilling, when I joined our minds she did not fight.  I was as much a victim as I had made her in that moment.”

He glared at the Vulcan.  “I’ve heard a lot of rapists use a line like that, you know.  They couldn’t help themselves.  The other person drove them to it.  They were wearing something that was saying they wanted it, so they gave it to them.  That they would have lost their minds if they didn’t do it.”

“That is precisely the situation for a Vulcan, Doctor,” Sarek interrupted.  McCoy stared at him in suspicion.  “I will not orate my people’s complete history at this time.  Its entirety is irrelevant.  Sufficing to say, there is a point in all male Vulcans’ lives in which they are consumed by their base instincts and urges.  At this moment, his mind becomes lost to him, and he cannot see reason or sense.  Biological changes occur, and he burns during this time.  It is called the pon farr, the inescapable time of mating.  He must mate with another, usually the one chosen for him in his youth, before the fires in his blood consume him.”

Despite the topic of discussion, McCoy was always the doctor.  He needed to know certain things in a certain way.  “What do you mean, there, by fires in his blood?  Do you people get an actual fever or—”

“In a way.  The only way it can be remedied is by the mating process.  During this time, the male Vulcan claims his intended physically and mentally, and through this connection, the pair is forever bound to each other.”

McCoy did not entirely understand Sarek’s explanation.  “Bound?  As in married?  You forced that girl not only into sex, and violent sex at that, but into marriage?”  Sarek actually sighed.  He looked frustrated.  That made two of them.  “I just don’t understand how you can justify what you did to that poor girl.  You said you have mates chosen for you in childhood.  Where was yours?”

Sarek nodded.  McCoy guessed that he had finally asked a question that the Vulcan could work with.  “My first mate, my arranged mate, suffered greatly.  She was never in optimal health and was unwell often.  Unfortunately, she became frightened of me following my second pon farr.” 

“What was her name?”  It probably wasn’t even important, but he was curious.

The answer came immediately.  “T’Reldai.”  He closed his eyes briefly.  McCoy wasn’t sure if he were simply remembering this woman fondly, or if he were acknowledging her death and mourning her.  He did not want to ask that question.  “She grew very frightened of me after our joining resulted in a son.”  McCoy’s brow furrowed.  Sarek had another child?  Where was this other son?  “With her health continuing to fade, she grew more fragile.  My son watched her slowly become weaker as the years passed.  He was fourteen years of age, not yet an adult by Vulcan estimation, when my third pon farr occurred and T’Reldai soothed my fires.”  Sarek bowed his head deeply, drawing in a full breath.  He appeared to be struggling with himself.  “I did not know what I had done until it was too late.  When a mate resists the advances of the male in pon farr, the encounter is...devastating.  The male experiences the pain of his mate’s rejection, but misunderstands that pain as another symptom of pon farr.  When this happens, he fights harder to extinguish his blood fever, and his pain, by the touch of his mate.”

McCoy nodded.  He understood what Sarek was trying to say.  “She died.”

“It was an unbearable spiral of pain.  She had begged me to allow her to recover, she pushed against me, and it is unheard of for mates to refuse consummation during pon farr no matter their state.  It is dangerous to do so for both involved.  I continued to use her to heal myself until I…When the time of mating had passed, and my mind returned to me, I discovered her.  She was bruised, and bleeding.  As was I.  This is normal.  What was not, however, was the blankness in her eyes and the emptiness in my mind where her presence should have been.”

His instinct was to offer some sort of comfort to Sarek.  For once, he listened to that instinct.  “It wasn’t your fault, though, was it?”

Sarek shook his head.  “My son believed it to be.  He challenged me to a Combat of Honor.  My son of fourteen.  He did not know what the consequences were to be from his challenge.  He was always quick to fight, and was always less diligent in his studies.”

“What’s a Combat of Honor?”

“It is a Warrior’s Combat.  When a member of a family or clan is wronged by another, they have the right to challenge the offender to this Combat of Honor.  It is typically fought without weapons, and it is believed that the victor will be determined not by strength, but by the level of his honor involved in the challenge at hand.  It is a fight to the death.  He who is perceived guilty and without honor in the battle will lose his life.”

McCoy nodded.  “Good triumphs over evil, right?”  Sarek mirrored the nod.  “Obviously you won.”

Sarek’s face became stoic.  “I did, though it was not easily done.”

The doctor reached out without thinking and rested his hand encouragingly on Sarek’s clothed forearm.  “Did you kill him?”

Sarek shook his head.  “How could I murder my young son?  I could not.  No force in this universe could induce me to do such a thing.” 

“But you said it ended in death.”

“It was as close to death that I could achieve whilst still granting him life.  As he lay bleeding on the sands of our clan’s place of ritual, I denied him his existence as my son, I struck his name from our clan, and I declared him dead to us, that he was vrekasht.  He did not understand that I could not kill him.  He took up a lirpa—”  McCoy had no idea what that was, but knew he could find out later.  “—and cut me across the torso.  I fell to the sands, and he stood over me, the lirpa in his hand, with my blood upon it.  He pressed his foot into my wound and declared me a coward and a murderer of my bondmate before our clan members.  I did not deny it, which was confirmation enough for him.”  Sarek looked down at McCoy’s hand on his arm.  “When he departed that place, he took the lirpa with which he had struck me.  I did not see Sybok again, but I am aware that he lives.”

That was interesting.  If he was considered dead, how did Sarek know about his whereabouts?  “You said you never saw him again, but what about talking?  Did he contact you after that?”

Sarek shook his head.  “He did not contact me.  However, when he learned of my new bondmate, Spockh’s mother, he did not disguise his identity to her, nor fail to inform her of her fate should she remain my bondmate.”

“He threatened her?”

“No,” Sarek said.  “Amanda always spoke of their encounters to me.  He warned her of what he believed was her future.  He told her that she would not survive another pon farr as my mate, being less than Vulcan, and possessing a much more delicate human skeleton than his mother.  Amanda was difficult to convince of weakness and insufficiency.  She was an excellent and strong woman.”

“So, she lived through another cycle.”  McCoy stated it rather than asked it. 

The expression that spread on Sarek’s face was one McCoy immediately recognized as extreme pride.  “She survived each of my pon farrs without receiving a single bruise or other mark.  Each time she was unharmed.”

McCoy was impressed with Sarek’s former mate.  For a brief instant, he was almost regretful that he would never have the opportunity to meet her.  She seemed formidable.  Suddenly, he understood what must have guaranteed her safety.  “She never resisted you, did she?”

“She surrendered herself to me during my time completely.  In turn, and to demonstrate my gratitude, I gave her everything she desired.  It was my privilege to care for my bondmate.”

A thought occurred to McCoy at that moment.  “So this happens with Vulcan males.  All Vulcan males.”  At Sarek’s nod, he continued.  The human smiled to himself as he imagined an ironic scenario in his mind.  “You know, the captain won’t like pon farr too much.  He’ll fight Spockh every moment.  Kirk takes, he never gets taken.”

Sarek met his gaze.  “And he may never have to alter his position.”

McCoy’s eyes narrowed.  “I don’t follow.”  There was something Sarek wasn’t saying. 

“Due to his hybrid genetics, it is unknown whether or not Spockh will ever endure pon farr.  His humanity may have spared him these drives.  It will not be known until – or if – the fever comes upon him.”  McCoy shook his head in near disbelief.  Sarek had just basically told him that he had no idea what was going on, and that everyone would just have to wait to find out.  It seemed Sarek had been waiting for some time already, and he was still not sure about it one way or the other.  McCoy was brought out of his thoughts as Sarek spoke again.  “However, I will experience pon farr again.”

He couldn’t help the uncomfortable groan from escaping.  He ran a hand through his hair before settling it over his mouth, knowing full well that he probably looked sick.  He had no interest in taking a Vulcan dick up his ass.  The thought of that scared Vulcan fucking Jim in a fevered madness was almost amusing.  Then again, it was probably because it wasn’t himself he pictured underneath a Vulcan as he plowed into him.  Picturing himself in that situation was completely different. 

He needed a drink urgently.

“You need not fear its arrival.  Once bonded, neither mate can injure the other.  If one does injury to their mate, then the abuser will also experience that violence that is inflicted on the other.  You are completely safe within a bond with your mate.  Even during pon farr.”

It became clear now.  “That’s why T’Reldai died.  Because she resisted you, and that hurt you, so your injury presented through your actions to hurt her.  She died because you both couldn’t stop hurting each other.”  Sarek nodded.  “And with Amanda, she was completely willing, so there was no offense against you.  Because she gave herself to you she was safe.” 

“And now you understand.” 

McCoy stood from his chair and walked to the wall communications unit. “I wish I knew that earlier when we talked about this hours ago.  Would have been nice to know what the hell I was signing up for.”

Sarek had followed his movements with his eyes.  “Would it have changed the situation in which we now find ourselves?”

McCoy thought about how he had come to this moment.  He thought about the bargain he had struck with Sarek in order to get here.  They had come to it out of protectiveness for those they cared a great deal for in their lives.  McCoy secured Kirk’s life, while Sarek secured his son’s.  McCoy shook his head.  “No.  We’d be right where we are now.” 

He activated the comm. unit and moments later he was speaking to Chapel.  “Have someone bring the old Vulan woman to my quarters immediately.  T’Pau is her name.”

“Right now?”

McCoy barely held back his annoyance.  He couldn’t stand Christine Chapel.  “Yes, _Nurse_ ,” he said, stressing her inferior title.  “Right now.”  He did not bother waiting for a response before he deactivated the comm.

Sarek looked at him, but he was unreadable.  McCoy realized that he was looking at the person he was about to marry.  He definitely needed that drink.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Usually, he liked the bodies underneath him a little curvier and softer, but this Vulcan’s trembling body beneath his own felt better than most of the women he’d had screaming as he did what he wanted with them.  Something in his silence excited him.  And he’d been excited for this for hours.  He’d given him plenty of time to understand, to prepare himself.  He wasn’t usually that generous.  Kirk drew away just enough to give himself a tempting view of the nude ass of the Vulcan.  He planted his hands on each cheek with an obscenely loud smack before he parted the globes to reveal the virginity that would belong to him.  His breathing quickened as the jade green pucker came into view.  Kirk licked his lips to hold in his moan.  He couldn’t let the little Vulcan think he was too attractive in his eyes. 

He had already said it to him.  He was done waiting.  Making sure to keep that inviting entrance in his sight, Kirk spit into his hand, then spread the poor lubrication along his cock.  He said nothing to the quaking figure beneath him as he guided himself to the untouched hole.  As the tip of cock nudged the Vulcan’s entrance, he let his eyes flutter closed and a smile curved his lips. 

He pushed.  His eyes opened.  He wanted to watch this particular virgin’s reaction to being claimed for the first time.  The body below him tensed impossibly further.  _Good,_ he thought.  _He’ll be so tight while he’s tense like this._   With some of his previous women, he would try to soothe them, get them relaxed and wet so that he could slide into them almost without them realizing it at first.  At that point, once he was buried inside of them, he was not going to stop.  But he didn’t want this Vulcan calm or relaxed.  He wanted to see him surrender. 

And so he pushed further.  He bit his bottom lip as he could almost hear the Vulcan’s muscle give just enough for him to slip the head of his cock inside of him.  But he did hear the high whine escape from those full and beautiful lips as he slipped in.  Then, Kirk noticed it.  There wasn’t just tightness around him.  There was slickness.  He laughed harshly.  “So, Bones didn’t just heal you.  He prepped you.”  With short and shallow thrusts, Kirk pushed further and further into the shaking Vulcan.  Half of his length was now encased by the Vulcan’s tight flesh.  “If he thought this would lessen the intensity of this moment for you,” he said as he pulled out until he was back where he’d started with just the tip of his cock inside of him.  “He was wrong.” 

With a grunt and the expertise of an assassin, Kirk forced his entire length into him, delighting in the way the Vulcan threw his head back and screamed with his full voice.  Kirk planted his hands on the angular shoulder blades, pressing him into the mattress, pulling himself back before quickly surging forward.  His reward was another scream.  He slid his left hand to the pale neck of his captive and curled his fingers around it, holding him in place.  He drew back again, giving the Vulcan no respite before that tightness squeezed him entirely once more.  Another thrust, another scream. 

But even James T. Kirk tired of screams. 

He lowered himself down onto the cooler body, his chest pressed closely to the Vulcan’s back.  He snaked his right hand from the shoulder to cover those beautiful lips, and muffle the agonizing cries each of his thrusts produced.  Kirk teased the shell of the ear with a quick swipe of his tongue.  The Vulcan was breathing fast through his nose, and from the rhythm, he sounded like he was beginning to panic.  Kirk didn’t want that.  Panic led to someone getting hurt.  He couldn’t understand why, but he didn’t want to hurt him, he only wanted him to admit defeat.  He shifted so that his mouth was directly against that pointed ear, his breaths puffing against that delicate flesh.  Occasionally, he would lick the skin. 

In one instance, it produced a violent reaction in the Vulcan.  Somehow he had moved his hands to grab at the one of Kirk’s that was clamped over his mouth.  Kirk would never admit it to him, but he was more occupied with the intensity of this Vulcan’s tight hole around his cock than with what he was doing to his hand.  He made it a little easy for him to pry his hand away from his mouth.  The hands that had forced his away fell to the mattress uselessly.  The dark-haired beauty beneath him was gasping, but not from pleasure.  He was gasping for air.  “I—I cannot breathe.”

Kirk took the Vulcan’s chin and turned his head so that his left cheek settled onto the bed.  “Stay like that and you will.”  He pressed his body fully into him, anchoring his back against him by sliding his arms underneath the Vulcan’s chest and curling them over each shoulder, not entirely dissimilarly to the restraints on some shuttles.  Kirk braced much of his weight forward as he established a punishing rhythm into the body beneath him.  The only sounds in his quarters were the quiet pained gasps of the creature at his mercy, his own harsh breathing, and the wet sound as his sweating body slammed into the Vulcan. 

Kirk looked at him and noticed that those dark eyes were clenched, the lashes shining with moisture.  “Open your eyes.”  He refused, shaking his head as he cried out at a particularly hard thrust.  Kirk lowered himself further, freeing his left arm to run his hand along the pale shoulder, and up the column of his neck.  He looked directly at the Vulcan’s face.  “Open those pretty eyes for me.”  He was denied again.  The Vulcan was regaining some of his nerve.  That wouldn’t do.  Kirk let the hand on the Vulcan’s throat go further higher into the dark hair.  Kirk had felt luxurious items before, but the feel of this Vulcan’s hair was beyond any pleasurable sensation he could remember.  He ran his fingers through the strands in fascination, not even noticing that his body’s rhythm had faltered in his distraction.  His fisted a handful and he gave the silken hair a harsh yank.  The intended effect was achieved.  His brown eyes opened.  “Look at me.”   

He met the Vulcan’s eyes, and the expression in their depths made Kirk stop his movements.  He was buried to the base inside of the Vulcan, his testicles pressed firmly against cooler flesh, and completely feeling the pulse of his inner walls alternately clenching and loosening around his cock.  His own heartbeat sounded in his head.  But he was otherwise still.  Tears had never affected James T. Kirk before, never.  Especially in his conquests.

Yet the tears that flowed freely from this Vulcan’s expressive dark eyes did affect him. 

But he couldn’t show that it did to this little one.  He smirked at the weeping Vulcan.  “That’s it,” he purred low in his throat.  “Let me see your face.”  He resumed his movements with slow, long retreats and advances.  He watched the Vulcan’s expression shift.  “I want to see you break underneath me.” 

His attention was diverted from those eyes as he caught the slow movement of the Vulcan’s hands sliding up toward him.  He slammed himself to the hilt as he grabbed each of his wrists and held them down on the bed, pushing nearly all of his body weight onto them.  “No, no.  I remember what happened the last time you touched me.”  His strokes increased in speed, drawing tiny whimpers from the Vulcan each time.  “You knocked me out.”  He brutally thrust to emphasize each word.  “Not this time.” 

The Vulcan cried out with each powerful thrust Kirk made.  He tried bucking him off, but Kirk rode his erratic motions flawlessly.  “This time,” he continued, deliberately changing his tempo, slowing and deepening his motions.  “You’re not going to escape me.”  He leaned forward and nuzzled the Vulcan’s throat, before inhaling his scent through his nose.  He wanted to memorize the musk of his fear.  “Won’t ever escape again.”  His lips found the pulse point in his throat and he sucked on it, as he loosened his grip on the wrists, choosing instead to trace a circle into the backs of his captive’s hands. 

The Vulcan moaned. 

Not only did he moan, he squirmed beneath Kirk.  He smiled against the Vulcan’s throat and suckled on the pulse point again.  “Captain…”  His title sighed through those lips surprised a groan out of Kirk.  He attacked the easily accessible earlobe in a likely failing attempt to mask how greatly it affected him.  “Please.”

Kirk felt the hands stretch in his before the Vulcan somehow managed to capture his fingers in his own, entwining them as he made a fist.  Kirk looked at their interwoven hands.  When he squeezed back, something changed in the Vulcan.  A strangled moan escaped him, and Kirk’s arousal was beginning to peak.  His thrusts grew in force.  “You like that, little one?”  Each push forward pressed him as far inside the Vulcan as was possible.  And with every push, Kirk was rewarded with a keening moan.  He scrambled to bring both of the Vulcan’s wrists close enough that he could grab them with only one of his hands.  With his other hand freed, Kirk ran his fingers through the dark locks, before gripping it and pulling his head back, eliciting a harsh gasp from him.  His neck was now fully exposed, and Kirk did not waste time.  He nipped and marked him all along the smooth column of skin.  “Answer me!” 

The Vulcan’s moans had grown louder as Kirk’s thrusts grew in power.  “Oh!  Captain!” 

As he was lavishing attention on the Vulcan’s throat, Kirk realized abruptly what it was that he wanted from his bed partner.    And he understood just what was preventing him from hearing it.  He had never told him.  “My name is James Tiberius Kirk.  Use it.”  He shifted his lower body so that he could use his own legs to force the Vulcan’s spread legs together.  Where he had been snugly encased before, that amazing tightness and heat increased around his cock with the Vulcan’s legs closed. Kirk straddled him and began to roughly cant into the now responding Vulcan.  “So tight, my little virgin.” 

The moans were nearly continuous.  But his eyes had closed once more, perhaps trying to conceal his shame.  “Yes, let me hear you like this.  Want to hear you.” 

With one thrust, the Vulcan’s back arched and he freed his captured hands from Kirk’s grip.  He screamed in a way that Kirk had heard many times before.  The Vulcan was in ecstasy.  “Oh, James!”

If he had been surprised at his own reaction to his title coming from those lips, hearing his name was so erotic his reaction bordered on pain.  Kirk instantly slid his hands to take hold of the Vulcan’s neck and hipbone and pulled them both onto their knees.  Once upright, Kirk curled his arm around his neck and pulled him flush against his body.  Like this, his pace beginning to escape his control, Kirk could feel the violent shaking of the Vulcan’s inexperienced body.  He knew what this meant. 

The Vulcan’s pale hands flailed as he could not decide where to place them.  He clearly wanted to touch Kirk, but could not decide exactly where.  After a moment, he settled his hands over Kirk’s, entwining their fingers as before.  The Vulcan moaned at his own actions.  “Look at me,” Kirk commanded.  He immediately obeyed.  “Kiss me.”  Again, he immediately obeyed. 

They moaned into the kiss together. 

When Kirk pulled away, the Vulcan’s head fell back to rest on his shoulder, his moans growing hoarse.  Kirk turned his head to brush his lips along the exposed throat.  He worked his way quickly to his jawbone.  The Vulcan’s shaking grew far more intense than it ever had before.  Kirk knew he was close.  He pressed wet, messy kisses all the way up the jaw until he reached the ear.  He did not kiss him there.  He let his lips linger just far enough away from the shell so that the Vulcan could feel his breath, but not his skin.  “Come,” he whispered into the ear. 

“Capt—” He could not finish the title.  His words ceased as his body stiffened in climax.  Kirk stared at the wanton Vulcan as his release spurted from his body.  Kirk held him tightly against his chest through the violence of the Vulcan’s ecstatic fit.  Once he began to calm, the Vulcan found his voice again.  “Ja—”  His name drifted off into a low moan, as the Vulcan’s body relaxed against him. 

Kirk loosened his grip on him, watching in delight as the Vulcan that he had reduced to this boneless, disheveled state collapsed forward on the bed.  At the last possible moment, he managed to catch himself on his hands.  Kirk smiled to himself.  He had always liked this position best.  But where typically his partners for the night would have feminine curves and noticeably narrower shoulders, the sight of this Vulcan’s exotic and decidedly male physique complete with his exquisitely tapered ears presented to him like this affected him in a drastically powerful way.  He had been close to orgasm earlier, but now he was aware of just how close he was coming.  “God, you’re beautiful,” he sighed in admiration. 

He firmly planted his hands on the Vulcan’s hips, and did not make any attempt at gentleness.  He pounded into the Vulcan, the force of his thrusts pushing him further and further up the bed, the Vulcan half-heartedly trying to find purchase with which to offer him resistance.  He was unsuccessful.  Kirk’s pace was rough, demanding, and brutal, producing tiny whimpers from the tired Vulcan.  “Wanted to do this to you since the moment I saw you,” Kirk panted.  He slammed in deeply, his body stiffening as his hips erratically shuddered, as he came with a groan.  His grip on the Vulcan’s hips was bruising as his release flooded that tight channel.  The sensation of his orgasm overwhelmed him to such an extreme that he did not hear the pained moan of the Vulcan. 

But he did notice when he tried to crawl away from him.  Without a word, Kirk held the quivering hips tightly against his own, and pressed forward until they were both once more lying prone, Kirk still on top of him, lazily thrusting his softening cock into the trembling body beneath him.  Soon enough, he grew still in relaxation.  Their labored breathing the only sound in the captain’s quarters.  When they were both finally drawing full breaths again, Kirk slowly turned his head and pressed his lips softly to the point of his Vulcan’s ear.  “You were worth all that trouble today.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“It is done,” T’Pau said as she removed her presence from the newly formed bond between her son and this male human doctor before her.  “You are bonded.” 

She had watched the doctor since Sarek had mentioned his arrangement with him.  Her son’s faith was commendable, but she doubted that this man would honor his word.  At the moment, he looked as though he were desperately searching for an escape.  His expression was near panicked, and his hands were restless.  In contrast, Sarek seemed much more at peace with the situation.  Already this new bond was working to stabilize his chaotic emotional state.  She looked back at the human, whose was now staring at her with wide eyes.  “You have questions.”  It was not a question.  She remembered when Sarek had presented her with Amanda immediately following the satisfaction of his mating drive with her.  She had had many questions as well. 

“I just…”  Then, he began to laugh.  His laughter grew until it met the definition requirements for hysteria.  T’Pau was concerned, but with a glance to her son, she knew she should not be.  Sarek’s lips were hinting at a smile.  He was amused.  “I just didn’t ever expect to get married again,” the doctor managed to say through his calming laughter.  He gave an apologetic look to Sarek.  “Especially not to a man.” 

T’Pau watched the human as her son replied.  “Would it comfort you to know that I had not anticipated a male as my next mate as well?”

The man practically leaped from his chair and went to a panel in the wall, keying in something.  A moment later he had finished the drink he had requested.  He placed the empty glass back inside the wall panel quickly.  By the time it had closed, his hands were against the wall, and he leaned forward, all of his weight on his hands.  He almost pushed off the wall to return to the two Vulcans, when he mumbled to himself quietly.  Because his present company consisted of two Vulcans with far superior hearing than humans, they heard him clearly.  “My God, I’m Jim’s father-in-law or something.”  He froze.  Then, he began to laugh to himself. 

T’Pau caught Sarek’s gaze.  He was now as concerned and perplexed as she was about the doctor.  When they both looked back to him, he had already turned around and walked to them, three glasses in his hands.  He placed one on his desk, and then handed a drink to each Vulcan.  The doctor shrugged and held his glass high.  “To this bizarre arrangement!” he drawled, with forced cheer in his tone.  He took a long sip from his drink and did not seem to have any intention of stopping.

T’Pau didn’t quite know how to respond to this strange behavior.  Sarek, however, had a much better familiarity with human behavior.  He followed the doctor’s example and sipped from the provided drink.  T’Pau decided to follow her son’s example.  They had both only taken a small sip of the alcoholic liquid by the time the human had finished his entire glass. 

With the bluntness T’Pau had grown to associate with Amanda, but the like of which she had never quite grown accustomed, this nearly hysterical doctor turned to her a strange smile on his face.  “I guess this whole thing makes you my mother-in-law.” 

“Indeed,” she replied cautiously. 

He snorted.  “Damnit, Jim.  That kid better make all this worth it.”

T’Pau could not help but silently agree with his statement.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

When he walked out of the bathroom, he was holding a warm wet cloth and a small towel.  He took in the naked Vulcan on his bed.  He’d left him there shortly after pulling out of his body, discovering with slight disgust that his cock was smeared with green blood.  He knew the Vulcan was untried tonight, but perhaps he had been rougher with him than he needed to be.  He shook his head, banishing the thought quickly.  No.  The Vulcan needed to understand who between them was the one with the authority, and that it was not the one with slanted eyebrows and pointed ears.  Kirk smiled to himself.  He did like those ears.  And apparently, his Vulcan liked them touched, too.  He could indulge him in that. 

He stood at the side of the bed, looking down at the Vulcan.  While Kirk had been gone, he had begun to shiver.  He’d wrapped his arms around his torso, and curled his legs toward his body in a fetal position.  His expression was tight with pain.  Kirk reached out and ran his hand along the Vulcan’s shoulder blade.  “Turn over.”

The reply came in a hoarse whisper.  “No, please, not again.  Not yet.”

In his other dominations and conquests, Kirk had left women – and even some men – crumbled in whatever room he’d had them, either naked, their clothing in pieces, or barely hanging onto them.  He’d left them on sofas, on beds, on floors.  He never cared if they were conscious, unconscious, perfectly fine, or hurt.  He’d gotten what he’d wanted from them.  He didn’t care about what happened to any of them.

Except now.

“Turn over,” he repeated, putting more pressure on the Vulcan’s shoulder. 

With a pained whine, he went where Kirk directed him.  He moaned softly with every exhale and hissed every time he drew breath.  “Please, I cannot.”

Kirk took the warm, wet cloth and with more care than he had shown anyone for a long time, ran it gently over the Vulcan’s entrance, removing any escaping fluids and blood.  “I’m not going to fuck you.”  He took his time in cleaning him, wanting to be sure that he was thorough.  “I’ll have Bones come by and look at you tomorrow.  But from what I can tell, you aren’t injured any more than expected.”  He took the dry towel and dried the pale body where he’d cleansed him.  “Just stop shaking.”  He made it an order.

The voice was hesitant, shy.  “I am—I am cold.” 

Kirk ran his hands along the Vulcan’s side, feeling the skin’s slight chill.  “Are you always cold?”

He shook his head.  “My internal body temperature is approximately ninety-one degrees, measured in your Fahrenheit scale.”

Kirk chuckled and set the towel and stained cloth aside.  He lowered himself onto the bed and propped himself up on his side, facing the Vulcan, whose eyes were closed.  He looked so innocent at that moment.  Kirk looked at his new bed partner, appreciating his beauty all over again.  Slowly, he reached out to him and smoothed his dark locks away from his forehead.  Some of it fell back into place, while the rest of it stuck up endearingly.  Kirk cupped the Vulcan’s cheek and brushed his thumb along the cheekbone slowly, learning the shape.  Then, he abandoned his exploration there and traced his index finger along the finely-slanting eyebrow.  Just as he was about to repeat the sweep, the Vulcan slowly opened his eyes.  Kirk wanted to kiss this beautifully exhausted creature in his bed, who was studying him despite being barely able to keep his eyes open.  “What’s—”  Kirk began, hesitating for a moment on whether or not he should ask, but admitting defeat to his curiosity.  “What’s your name, little one?”

The Vulcan blinked very slowly.  “Spockh.”

Kirk offered a tiny smile to him.  “Spock,” he tested the name on his tongue.

Tired, and clearly summoning up a large amount of his remaining energy, the Vulcan sighed and raised one of his eyebrows.  “You will require practice, James.”

This time, Kirk did laugh.  He cupped Spock’s cheek again and helped him to meet him halfway in a kiss.  After only a moment, the Vulcan slackened in his hold.  Kirk released Spock’s lips and could not help but smile in amusement when he realized that the Vulcan had fallen asleep during the kiss. 

That was certainly a first for James Tiberius Kirk.  No one had ever fallen asleep when he’d kissed them.  But this defiant Vulcan had done just that.  This left him with a small dilemma.  He never permitted any of his sexual partners to stay the night with him, not even Marlena.  It was always awkward and messy.  They thought it meant something, when it meant absolutely nothing to Kirk.  He’d even had to have one of them killed because he began to stalk him.  That was unacceptable.  But here was this Vulcan.  His Vulcan.  He belonged to him, now, and if he were to shove him out of his quarters…Kirk didn’t want to know what could happen to him.  The reality of the situation was that he had nowhere else to go. 

Kirk got off the bed, and maneuvered Spock’s body enough to free the bedding on which he’d taken him.  He’d have it washed tomorrow.  But at least the Vulcan’s fluids were on the top layer and not where Kirk planned on lying down to sleep.  He lifted the covers and draped them over Spock, who was grimacing and making odd, quiet noises as he slept.  He looked to his desk, where he knew there were many issues that required his attention. 

He had only just released the covers and taken one step toward his desk when something unexpected happened.  His hand was touched.  Instinctually, Kirk yanked it away and turned back toward the bed, intending to say something harsh to the Vulcan.  But he was still sleeping.  He’d freed his hand from the covers and was blindly, unconsciously reaching for him.  When his fingers were contacting nothing but air, he moaned sadly.  Kirk didn’t know what to think.  So he decided to experiment.  Slowly, he allowed his hand to hover closer to the Vulcan’s searching fingers, but far enough away that he could retreat if need be. 

Spock found him immediately, his cool fingers curling around his.  Kirk looked at his features and saw them lose their tension.  Then, he looked back at their joined hands and felt the heat radiating between them.  It was odd, but pleasant. 

He looked again at his desk and sighed.  Whatever it was, it could wait a little longer. 

Using his free hand, Kirk lifted the edge of the bedding and slid underneath the covers.  He shifted himself onto his back.  No sooner had he found a comfortable position did Spock drift closer to him, as though seeking as much contact with him as possible.  Kirk looked at him, and could not resist reaching for him with his free hand. He slowly brushed the black hair away from the Vulcan’s forehead as though he were stroking the fur of a treasured pet.  “I hope you stay worth it,” he whispered.  Kirk closed his eyes and was soon lulled into slumber by Spock’s soft breathing. 


	9. The Cages

He wasn’t used to waking up with someone else in his bed.  It was always a risk to fall asleep with someone.  Being murdered while asleep happened often to those of higher ranks and influence stupid enough to sleep with their whores.  Gary Mitchell was not so stupid.  Yet he still had let this woman stay in his bed while he slept. 

He looked at her, taking in her naked body tangled in her own uniform’s top piece.  He’d managed to tie her hands in it.  Soon after, he’d wound her thin, silken panties around her booted legs.  Once she was immobilized, he found her worthy enough to speak to him.  Her skirt was thrown somewhere on the floor.  He didn’t care where.  He almost hoped it was destroyed so that she would have no choice but to return to her own quarters without it, showing off her humiliation to the other female crewmembers.  It’d been so long since he’d dominated a woman.  He’d almost forgotten how much more powerful it made him feel. 

 

_“And how many times did our stallion captain fuck you, whore?” he’d cooed, as he tangled his fingers in her long dark hair and forced her to take him completely into her mouth._

_She’d swallowed the insult as poorly as she was struggling to swallow his leaking fluids.  When she began to choke and tears slid down her cheeks he ripped his still dripping cock from her mouth.  He listened to her gasp for air for a second before he backhanded her, sending her to the deck.  Her bound hands and legs prevented her from cushioning her fall.  She landed hard on the floor.  “How many times?” he screamed._

_“I don’t—five?  Maybe six!” she shook on the deck, unable to lift herself up._

_Gary reached down and grabbed her by the hair, using the grip to pull her back to her unsteady feet.  Her makeup was smearing from her tears, her hair was a tangled dark mess, and her skin was beginning to show the marks his hands had left.  “I hate Kirk’s leftovers. There must be something wrong with you to make him get rid of you. Did you choke on his dick, too?”_

_She didn’t say anything out loud, but shook her head quietly._

_He sighed and threw her onto the bed.  “When’d he have you last?  Last night?  This morning?”  He flipped her onto her stomach and yanked her to the edge of the bed, so that she was standing awkwardly bent over it.  Her chest rested on the mattress, taking some of the pressure.  “Bet you’re still loose from it, too.”  Gary didn’t even spit onto his fingers before two of them were rammed into her.  She was not wet, and she was not loose.  “Well, well,” he mused aloud.  “Looks like Kirk didn’t like you too much after all.”_

_A moment later, his fingers were removed.  He aligned himself with her and pressed hard.  She did not make a sound at his entrance.  It was the only thing about her that impressed him.  “You’ll have to be a better slut for me than you were for Kirk to make me even want to keep you.”  He picked up the pace, but she was still silent.  “You know I can always make you moan, Moreau, don’t you?  Start making yourself worth at least a good fuck so I don’t kill you.”  Then, an idea struck him.  “Or I’ll make you kill yourself.  I can do that, too.  Just test me, you bitch.”_

She hadn’t tested him.  And by the time he’d finally come, Marlena Moreau almost sounded like she enjoyed it.  Gary glared at her still bruising body.  She might be useful for something other than her tight hole on this ship. 

There was a certain advantage in having another man’s woman when she hadn’t been killed after being discarded.  Marlena might be his key to destroying James T. Kirk.  And Gary Mitchell knew exactly how to get that sort of information from her.  He liked being one of the few people in the Empire with a remarkably high ESPer-rating.  He’d be able to pull what he wanted from her head.  He could rape her mind as much as he raped her body.

And he’d be able to do this entirely with Kirk’s permission.  After all, Marlena wasn’t off-limits to his powers, unlike some crew and their Vulcan pets.  Gary smiled at her sleeping form.  He was looking forward to it. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

It seemed that she, as a Vulcan physician, would make as many incorrect assumptions about Humans as the human doctor had been making about Vulcans.  For example, in her interactions with her cousin-by-bonding’s human mother, it had been T’Pring’s observation that Lady Amanda required a far longer rest period than any Vulcan.  This did not seem to apply to the dark-haired male doctor that had been the only one to directly interact with her clan members.  He was quite unique among their captors. 

She watched as he seemed to be the only one performing the terribly inefficient process of injecting each Vulcan with a hypospray.  He looked less than pleased about having to do this round of injections.  Perhaps this would be an ideal moment during which she could discuss with him what she and her mate had discussed throughout the evening.  And so, T’Pring waited patiently for the doctor to come closer to her, Stonn at her side supportively.  As one of the few Vulcans capable of speaking Imperial Standard, she knew that it would fall to her – and other members of her clan – to speak for her people.  With this language barrier, they could not speak for themselves.

“Doctor, may I speak with you?” she asked when he came close enough to them.

He glared at her.  “What do you want?” he asked, as he worked to refill the empty hypo where he stood in front of a very young child. 

“I would like to inquire as to my people’s fate.”

“Sweetheart,” drawled the doctor slowly.  “It’s too early in the morning for your people’s way of using too many words to say something simple.  Just…be as brief as possible, okay?  At least until I have some damn coffee.”

“Are you ill, Doctor McCoy?” Stonn asked.  T’Pring knew his curiosity about this particular human’s behavior bordered on amusing.  Stonn had always been fascinated by the unknown.  Perhaps it was why he had followed his uncle’s profession and became an astrophysicist.  There was always something unknown to become known when studying the cosmos. 

The Terran had injected the child and was now in front of them.  “Let me ask you two something.”  T’Pring was not given the courtesy time to reply before McCoy continued to speak.  “When you got bonded and all that, and you did the mind-melting thing—”

“It is called a mind- _meld_ , Doctor, not a melt,” Stonn attempted to correct. T’Pring was slightly amused that McCoy paid her mate absolutely no attention.  His focus was firmly on her.  She believed this was most likely due to her similar status as a physician to her people. 

“—did you have a god-awful headache the next day?”

T’Pring shook her head, understanding his odd choice of phrasing enough.  “Negative.  Our minds were very compatible and bonded to each other’s with remarkable ease.  Your difficulty could simply be a result of your difference in species.  Has my uncle-by-bonding experienced similar difficulty this morning?”

McCoy lowered his head.  It was a strange behavior, one not seen among Vulcans.  “I – uh – didn’t ask or anything.  Had to get here early, so…”

“I believe I understand, Doctor,” she interrupted, attempting to spare him from the humiliation of being unable to articulate.  “However, there is a matter I wish to discuss.”

“Right, right,” McCoy mumbled, as he injected a nearby Vulcan.  “Your people.  What about them?”

T’Pring quickly realized that she would have to follow him throughout his rounds if she intended to finish the conversation.  He was a focused man, and his task was subduing her people.  He clearly wanted it over with as quickly as possible.  She walked at his side, feeling Stonn’s presence immediately behind them.  “What is intended for us?  You must comprehend the illogic of keeping us in this medical bay.  Should a situation arise in which you require the use of your monitoring beds, they will be unavailable to you with my people here.”  She saw his gaze dart quickly around the room between each quick injection.  At least he was listening to her.  “May I suggest relocating us in smaller groups to various holding facilities?”

“And how many of those do you think we have, woman?”

Stonn stepped between T’Pring and McCoy.  “My mate and I have discussed this notion at length.  We concluded that it would be best to discuss it first with someone with whom we have already interacted, and one who is familiar with both this vessel’s interior construction and also one who maintains what seems to be a positive rapport with the commander of this vessel.”

McCoy growled and returned to his hyposprays, his method of delivery a little more forceful than moments earlier.  T’Pring tried to reinforce Stonn’s words.  “You are the only Terran to whom those parameters apply.”

“Are you trying to say I’m the best person to talk to on this ship?” He looked confused.

“Aside from the captain directly, affirmative.” 

The doctor glared at Stonn as soon as he began speaking.  “You could’ve just said ‘yes.’  It’s easier.”

Stonn met his gaze evenly.  “Easy is not often synonymous with correct.”

McCoy sighed.  Then, he turned his attention to T’Pring.  She was only marginally amused to realize that this man was not as fond of her mate as he seemed to be of her.  “What kind of bug you want me to put in Captain Kirk’s ear?”

Lady Amanda had never said anything like that.  T’Pring had nothing to which she could make a comparison in the language lessons the human had given her and her clan members.  She had to therefore assume McCoy meant this literally.  “I do not desire you to insert any species of insect into the aural cavity of—”

“It’s an expression!” McCoy snapped.  “It means what do you want me to ask him about?”

Imperial Standard was a confusing and incredibly inaccurate language.  It was remarkable they ever achieved the construction of the Empire with such confusing linguistics.  “Ah.  I understand.”  She did not put any further effort into the complexities of the Terran language.  “My mate and I have devised a proposal.  As you are aware, I am a physician among my people.  I can be of use to you in treating or…”  She hesitated here.  But she had discussed this possibility with Stonn.  They agreed that cooperating with their captors may in time grant them some small freedoms.  And the possibility of living with only some restrictions was far more agreeable than a life confined to brig cells, drugged submission, and physical bindings indefinitely.  “…or in controlling members of my species for your purposes.” 

By the look on his face, she knew she had his attention.  She must continue to keep that attention.  “My mate is also a skilled astrophysicist.  He is willing to assist your stellar scientists in whichever manner your captain determines appropriate.  We expect constant surveillance in these duties as your captives.  We will not contest it.”

“I think I see where you’re going with this,” mused the doctor aloud. 

“There are very few Vulcans able to speak your language.  Only one house had learned, and there are only six of us left.  However, Stonn and I will serve as interpreters in order to communicate our proposal to our people.”

McCoy turned to face her fully, his rounds forgotten for the moment.  He crossed his arms over his chest.  “And what is that proposal, exactly?”

“I would gather a crude census among our survivors, with particular focus on the professions of the adults, any living clan members – especially mates and offspring, and inquire if they would be willing to offer their expertise aboard this vessel.  I am certain that our knowledge will be mutually beneficial to each other.”

“You’re assuming that my captain even wants your help.”

T’Pring almost smiled.  “It is obvious that your captain does not know what to do with us.  We have provided an option.  Our cooperation for limited leniency.  There will, of course, be many among us who would refuse to have their knowledge used without better allowances.  The captain could therefore easily have those individuals detained in his brigs and holding cells.  However, those who agree would likely only do so under the condition that they are released from their bindings in order to work, and that they are not separated from their clan members – or at the least from immediate family.”

McCoy was quiet for a moment, his lower lip between his teeth as he contemplated.  “I don’t know if the captain will accept those terms.  He might go for the release of the bindings so long as you’re all subdued, but keeping families together…”

“Family is of the utmost importance to Vulcans,” she added quietly, hearing her own voice lose some of its steadiness.  “As you are becoming well aware, I’m sure, Doctor McCoy.”  She felt Stonn’s bound hands come to rest on her shoulder gently. 

She joined their hands on her shoulder, slowly tangling their fingers in the kiss of her people.  “Doctor,” Stonn took over her plea.  “You must see that it is illogical to keep all of us here without making use of those of us in possession of valuable skills.  Prisoners are typically kept for some purpose to their captors, but your captain has yet to indicate what that purpose is, which implies that he himself has not yet determined one.”

McCoy sighed and looked to the floor.  T’Pring knew they were being understood.  “In our proposal, you will have your medical bay cleared of our people as much as possible, allowing space for you and your staff to tend to medical procedures, those resistant to working can be confined, and your captain will receive willing laborers and technicians who would perform their assigned tasks in exchange for their clan’s safety.”

He shook his head.  “He won’t be able to protect all of you.  You have to know that.  He’s too busy making sure he doesn’t get killed by someone wanting his command.”

“By at least releasing us from these bindings he is giving us a chance to protect those for whom we care.” 

McCoy became tense.  T’Pring realized they had reached a stalemate. 

“Please,” Stonn said.  “We are aware that it is not within your authority to make this so, but we are aware that it _is_ in your power to convince your captain to at least consider it.  And that is all that we ask of him.  To consider this alternative.”

The doctor sighed once more, shaking his head slowly.  He walked away from them, injecting several adults before he paused at a young Vulcan child.  The boy looked up at him not with anger, or resentment, but with the stoic acceptance of the adults around him.  He tilted his head to the side waiting for the injection silently.  T’Pring watched as McCoy hesitated.  She had never seen him hesitate with the hypospray until that moment. 

Suddenly, McCoy turned and stalked quickly back to them, grabbing a padd as he went from the surface of a biobed.  He shoved it at her.  “Make your damn census, woman.”  He pointed a finger at Stonn.  “And you,” he growled at her mate.  “You get all the kids together and separate them.  They obviously can’t work, so it’s up to you people to think of something for them.”  He looked back to T’Pring.  “Finish that by the end of the day and I’ll make sure the captain hears about it.  But he’s not knowing a damn thing until I have something solid to give him, you understand?”

“Affirmative,” they both replied. 

“Good,” he mumbled before heading past them shouting after his blonde nurse.  “Chapel! Let me see how you two are coming along with that gaseous form of the inhibitor.”

T’Pring quickly familiarized herself with the device in her hands before she approached the nearest adult to her, bringing up a blank report page on which to begin her data collection.  In her peripheral sight, she saw her mate gently begin to gather all of the youths that had yet to begin their chosen formal higher educations.  She saw in some instances, children that must be linked but far too young to have been truly bonded, reach for each other, touching their first two fingers together. 

She wondered if, in those instances, those linked children were all each other had left in the universe.

 

            ~X~X~X~X~X~ 

 

Their human guest was already on board his shuttle, performing all the preflight checks necessary to avoid their deaths before returning to the Terran ship.  Ayel stood near the open hatchway of the small shuttle.  He was close enough to prevent the human’s premature escape, but far enough so that the alien would be unable to overhear the conversation taking place between him and his own captain.  Even if the human were able to hear them, he would not understand.  They spoke in their own tongue.

“The cargo is on board, Prod Nero,” Ayel confirmed.

Nero’s gaze drifted to the open doorway of the shuttle.  He spoke without taking his eyes from it.  “And it’s secured?”  Ayel nodded once.  “Repeat your mission,” he ordered.

“First, I must ensure that Captain Pike fulfills his end of the agreement.  If he should rescind his word, it is your orders that I escape custody and fulfill the task myself.”  He held out his hands to Nero.  “By any means I deem necessary to complete it.”

Nero looked hard into his eyes, not once shifting them as he fastened the faulty cuffs around Ayel’s wrists.  “I would prefer another method to ensure our success, but we both know how trustworthy and reliable Terrans can be.”  He demonstrated without looking at the bindings how to escape from them should it come to that.  Ayel knew that the weak humans would be unable to break even these damaged cuffs, but a Romulan can easily escape them.  They were ideal for this subterfuge.  “You will not fail.”

“Ssuaj-ha.”  Ayel understood indeed.  So many things had been destroyed largely because of the involvement of Terrans.  They proved incredibly deceitful.  Ayel was not about to trust Captain Pike too much.  He would watch for all signs of betrayal. 

“Bedah, dinam,” Nero said his farewell sincerely.  Ayel had not been called Nero’s brother in many years.  Perhaps Nero chose to do so now because it was highly probable that this conversation would be their last.  He knew he may never return to the Narada, but he would do what he could to come back.  And the only way he could guarantee that outcome was by his mission’s success. 

Ayel lowered his head respectively to his superior, a gesture of respect and farewell simultaneously.  As he raised his head, he was somewhat surprised to see that Nero had returned the gesture.  Without another word, Ayel turned away from his captain and friend and entered the human captain’s shuttle.  To his right, in the back of the craft, Ayel saw the designated cargo they were to transport before returning to Captain Pike’s ship.  But he had no interest in being near it. 

Ignoring the human’s expression of surprise and disgust, Ayel seated himself in the co-pilot’s chair.  Seemingly accepting his situation, Pike sighed through his nose harshly before he initiated the sequences for liftoff. 

As the doors of the shuttle began to close, Ayel heard the deafening chorus of a warrior’s departure by the crew he was leaving behind.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Sometimes James T. Kirk impressed even himself, and that morning it was his own restraint that accomplished it.  When he opened his eyes, Kirk was struck by the realization that he had not dreamed for the first time in years.  He always dreamed, and the hazy images had always stayed with him until he could wash them away in a shower.  But last night, he had not dreamed. 

Even before he had opened his eyes, he registered the warm body beside his own.  In fact, the body was unusually close to him.  The word attached came to mind.  Cool air tickled his chest as his bedmate breathed in sleep against his collarbone.  Slowly, Kirk angled his head to look at him. 

The Vulcan’s dark and silken hair was chaos.  Some strands were stuck to his skull, while others seemed to defy gravity and stand up at all sorts of angles.  His smooth and pale skin was temptation.  Kirk lifted one hand, almost giving into the urge to run his fingers over the alien’s pale flesh again.  His hand shook as he remembered how that skin had felt in his firm grip last night as he’d claimed the Vulcan’s innocence.  But he did not touch him.  He lowered his arm again, continuing his observation of his new partner.  The Vulcan’s eyelashes were long, thin, and delicate.  They would occasionally flutter in his sleep.  Kirk found himself wondering if Vulcans dreamed.  When his green-tinged lips parted to release a gentle sigh against his skin, Kirk unconsciously mirrored the movement with his own lips and breath. 

Kirk wanted the Vulcan again.

He glanced at the chronometer display near his bed.  Somehow, he held back the frustrated groan.  There wasn’t enough time.  The Vulcan reclaimed his attention as the long fingers resting on his sternum curled toward the palm before releasing flat again on his skin.  The Vulcan’s unconscious touch increased the temptation for Kirk, and he felt his body responding accordingly. 

He shifted his weight, seeking even the friction of the bedding against himself for some measure of relief.  Then, when the Vulcan pressed himself closer against him, Kirk knew that he had to get up.  As slowly as he could manage, Kirk extracted himself from the Vulcan’s hold and slid from the bed.  Being incredibly quiet yet unusually quick, he began to dress.  He had to reclaim his center seat on the bridge and actually get something done.  And as much as he wanted to continue exploring the Vulcan’s body and coax more of those wonderful sounds from him, he had actual duties to do.  This beautiful creature would be his own reward later. 

Looking around on the floor for his gold command sash, Kirk noticed the discarded bindings he carelessly tossed away before he’d had the Vulcan.  He picked them up and locked them away.  It would not do to return to his quarters only to have the Vulcan somehow catch him off guard and cuff him, reversing their situations.  No.  Kirk alone commanded on this ship and especially in these rooms.  He turned and saw the tunic still on the chair from the night before.  He picked it up and felt the fabric with his fingers.  It was a fine fabric, not coarse or rough, but luxurious.  He wondered if this Vulcan was on the nobler end of that race.  Did Vulcans even have nobility?  It was something to find out.  He bent to pick up the remainder of the Vulcan’s discarded clothing and draped it all on a clean section of his desk.  He knew the alien would see them.  But he would surely need more clothing than this. 

He keyed in a cup of coffee from his replicator and drank it quickly, without taking the time to enjoy it.  The same occurred with the Ktarian egg omelet he requested.  Kirk was fastening the knot of his sash around his midsection when he heard a soft rustling.  He came around the metal mesh divider as he finished the knot to see the Vulcan’s eyes open.  He blinked slowly once as he pushed himself up a little with his elbows, hissing at the movement.  But when those brown eyes found him, he froze immediately.  Kirk was struck still by a powerful wave of lust.

If he had a longer time before he had to leave, Kirk would have pushed the little Vulcan down onto the bed, spread his legs, and given him a proper morning fuck.  But he didn’t have that long.  He didn’t even have enough time to get him on his knees and teach him how to apply his mouth.  That would take a little more time and patience than he currently had.  Kirk looked again at the chronometer display.  Unfortunately, he would not be able to get any sort of release from the Vulcan this morning. 

But he did have just enough time to make sure he was fed.  He just had to get him to his feet to teach him how to use the replicator.  He could at least provide that much for the time being. 

Kirk went to the side of the bed, wondering how to coax the Vulcan from it without frightening him.  He tried to smile softly at him, but he couldn’t see a change in the wide-eyed expression before him.  He couldn’t resist the bare skin any more.  Lowering himself to sit on the very edge of the bed, Kirk reached out to run his fingers against the smooth skin of the Vulcan’s shoulder, wandering up only to touch the bruise on the column of his neck where he’d kissed and sucked when he’d been pounding into him.  He let his touch slide down the neck, along the shoulder, and trail down the arm until he was momentarily halted by its disappearance under the covers.  He met the Vulcan’s gaze as he slowly dipped his hand under the bedding to continue his exploration, stopping only when he reached the knuckles of that long-fingered hand.  He curled his fingers around the back of the hand beneath his and stroked absent patterns on the protruding bones.  His smile turned slightly victorious as the Vulcan’s lashes fluttered closed. 

Kirk took the Vulcan’s hand in his firmly.  “Come on,” he said, tugging a little on the limb, as he got to his feet.  “Get up.”  It would have been easier if he’d just chosen something for the Vulcan to eat, but he didn’t know if he would return until later that evening, so he needed to learn how to operate the replicator before he left. 

To his surprise, the Vulcan spoke.  “As you wish, Captain.”  With his free hand, he pulled the covers aside.  Kirk could not help but gasp as the smooth body was revealed.  At least the Vulcan’s appeal had not faded after having him.  Kirk could gaze at this Vulcan for hours. He would prefer touching him, but looking was good, too.  He was still beautiful, especially with the bruises he’d kissed into his skin, clearly marking the Vulcan as his own.

He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he did not realize that the Vulcan had painfully turned in the bed, that he had risen up onto his hands and knees, or that his movement pulled Kirk toward the bed until he had no choice but to join him.  The Vulcan had practically pulled him onto the bed behind him.  Kirk settled on his knees, staring as his hand was guided to the Vulcan’s hip and placed there.  He mirrored the action with his other hand, once more holding the Vulcan in place as he had last night.  The Vulcan steadied himself on both hands and – with little fluidity or grace – abruptly pushed himself back into Kirk’s pelvis, giving the human no choice but to grip the Vulcan’s body harder to keep them both balanced. 

But then he noticed the bruises on those hips just under his hands.  He shifted his grip and examined the bruise.  It was in the shape of his hand.  Had he gripped him that hard as he’d taken him?  Kirk gently replaced his hand on the bruise, using his thumb to rub the discolored flesh. 

He felt the pressure against his groin, which was responding enthusiastically to the Vulcan’s clumsy movements, but it took Kirk a moment for the realization to set in. The Vulcan was not hissing in pleasure as he moved against him.  He was hissing in pain.  Kirk tore his gaze away from the lower half of the body against his in favor of the trembling shoulders and hanging head.  He heard the quiet sounds his Vulcan made.  He was trying desperately to contain his dry sobbing.  Kirk almost immediately lost his arousal.

He didn’t want this. 

Kirk leaned forward as much as their position allowed him so that he could press a kiss to the Vulcan’s spine.  He looked up and saw that his attempt at comfort had the exact opposite effect.  Kirk used the grip he had on his hips and pulled him onto his right side, freeing his lower hand from being trapped as he settled them onto the bed.  He pulled the Vulcan’s back against him, as he propped himself up on his elbow to better see the alien’s face.  He’d expected relief.  What he saw was confusion and fear.  The Vulcan struggled to get back onto his hands and knees, fighting the hand with which Kirk pressed him down at his hip.  “Stop,” he commanded.  He froze in his position halfway between lying on his side and kneeling.  “Lie down like I had you.” Slowly, his command was obeyed. 

Kirk saw him stare at the wall, his reactions non-existent as the human ran his left hand along the soft skin of the Vulcan’s side.  He leaned closer to him and kissed the shoulder blade before him.  He absently continued to let his hand wander up and down the Vulcan’s side. 

After what seemed a very long time, the Vulcan finally spoke.  “Did I do something to displease you, James?”

“No,” he said against the shoulder before kissing the skin again.  “No, Spock.  You please me very much.”  He looked again at the Vulcan’s face.  The confusion was still easily seen.

“Then, why—”

“Because you’re in pain from last night.”  He craned to check the time again.  He sighed.  “And honestly, I don’t have the time.”

The change in his position caused a spark of rebellion in Spock.  He reached back between them, blindly seeking the means to open Kirk’s uniform.  “I assure you, I am well enough for your use.”

Kirk grabbed his wrist and brought his arm away from his partial erection.  He wrenched the arm further behind the pale back and held it there with his right hand.  He had a point to make to this Vulcan.  “Oh, are you?”  With only the minimal benefit of spit, Kirk forced three of his fingers into the abused entrance of the Vulcan, grimacing at the resultant cry of the rough treatment.  He twisted his fingers roughly, producing another shout.  “Let me make this clear to you, Spock,” Kirk hissed into the shell of the Vulcan’s ear.  He stilled his fingers inside him, letting him continue to feel the pressure of their presence but no longer needing to cause further pain.  “I don’t permanently injure what’s mine.  And as much as I want to fuck you right now, if I did that I’d make whatever injuries I gave you last night worse.  You can chose to believe me or not when I say that I have no desire to keep you in pain forever.  I want you to know what pleasure is, and to know that what once caused you pain can also bring you ecstasy like you can’t imagine right now.  But you’ll never get to that point if I don’t let you heal.”  He pressed his lips to the nape of the Vulcan’s neck, as he slowly removed his fingers, hearing the quiet sob the movement caused.  He released the arm, and slowly helped the Vulcan bring it back to where it had rested in front of him.

“For example, I know how this,” Kirk said as the fingers he had just removed from the Vulcan’s body now played with the cooler fingers like an instrument.  “How this brings you pleasure.”  As if on cue, Spock shivered against him, and moaned softly.  “There are other ways you can please me.  Differently from last night.”  The Vulcan looked at him questioningly. 

“How?”

Kirk smiled at the innocent question.  He used his shoulder to turn the Vulcan onto his back so that he could claim those parted lips with his own.  Spock moaned into the kiss, which only made Kirk press into him harder.  “Not now, Spock,” he gasped as he tore himself away.  “Later.”  He glanced at the chronometer.  “God, I wish I had the time.”  He kissed the Vulcan again, stealing the alien’s breath for his own.  With their lips still connected, Kirk slid his lower body off the bed.  He separated their hands and mouths as he stood, quickly drawing the bedding up over his Vulcan so he was not tempted further.  Spock looked at him with an expression he could not identify, but at least the fear was lessening. 

Kirk turned abruptly from him and headed to the door of his quarters.  “Don’t leave these rooms on your own.”  He secured his dagger and agonizer at his waist before continuing to the door.  “Bones will be here later to help with the pain.”

Before the Vulcan could respond, Kirk had left his quarters and was striding purposefully down the corridor, feeling the presence of Farrell at his left immediately.  He was halfway to the turbolift when a door parted to his right.  Kirk intended to continue, but was halted at Chekov’s call.  “Captain! Could I see you?”

Kirk stopped and faced the newly promoted lieutenant.  “Aren’t you supposed to be on the bridge in a minute?”  He really didn’t have the time for delay, but Chekov was already at his right, his tiny but pretty Vulcan bondmate at his side.  Kirk’s first thought was that something had gone wrong with their strange Vulcan bond.  “What is it?”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He’d been watching her for years now.  He’d been keeping track of her meals, and he knew that she had not eaten since the last time she had received word about the last of her family.  She refused food unless someone told her about her son.  He knew the doctors would give in soon and tell her something or force her food into her stomach.  After all, they had orders to keep her alive.  They’d arrived at almost the same time, although his arrival succeeded hers by only a few weeks.  After all, they had something in common in the ghost of her husband’s traitorous act.  He had been aboard the ISS Kelvin when George Kirk evacuated the crew and gave his life for theirs.  He had been on medical shuttle thirty-six, the one directly before the shuttle in which the briefly commanding Captain Kirk’s son had been born.  He had introduced George and Winona when they were still in the academy.  Winona had shared one of his specialties – security – in their academy days.  His other specialty had ended up being in psychology, with particular emphasis on handling those dealing with traumatic experiences. 

It had led to his development of something he called the neural neutralizer.  Its intention was to bring focus to crewmembers and officers dealing with trauma during their service aboard ships in the Empire.  The beam his device emitted gave the patients a sense of stability and a center of calm so that they were able to do their duties to the level they had before their trauma had occurred.  It had been successful.

Until the Empress demanded that he increase the beam intensity to maximum on Travis Mayweather, so that the effects it produced when used in full force could be determined.  Travis had ended up insane, unable to remember his involvement in Archer’s death, unable to perform his duties.  He was no longer needed.  The Empress had him executed quietly soon afterwards.  Immediately following that, all duplicates of the neural neutralizers kept aboard imperial vessels were destroyed.

Except one. 

The neural neutralizer was his only assignment from the Empress, but it was not what led him to his incarceration.  That distinction was due to a little invention for which he had yet to name.  It had been a joint effort between him, Christopher Pike, and George and Winona Kirk.  They knew the dangers presented by their fellow crewmembers on ships.  They knew they had to protect their friends, so long as their friends had no intentions of betraying them.  The idea had been proposed by Pike just before he was transferred to the ISS Farragut as lieutenant commander.  But his three academy colleagues continued to develop the idea.  Pike’s involvement was forgotten by the Empire, but not by him. 

It had nearly been completed aboard the ISS Kelvin when they encountered the fateful lightning storm near Klingon space.  It was only missing four key elements before it could be considered functional.  He had taken it with him in the evacuation.  But he had not taken the research materials, the schematics, the plans.  It had all remained on the Kelvin, where it was destroyed with Captain George Kirk. 

It had taken an entire month for what remained of the ISS Kelvin crew to return to Terra.  He had stayed by Winona’s side, being introduced to baby James, and supporting her in the loss of her husband.  When they had been called before the Empress in the Imperial Court, it was not for praise.  He had been in court awaiting his own questioning period when Winona had been summoned.  And it had ended in near chaos.  In a matter of minutes, Winona Kirk’s life had fallen to pieces and she was efficiently forced from court, screaming and fighting until she had been relocated to this place. 

Three days later, he had shared that same end result.  He had been questioned about the suspicious device found on his shuttle for hours, but he did not reveal its purpose, nor the steps left before its completion. 

 

_The Imperial Guards flanking the Empress had drawn their phaser rifles and had them pointed directly at his chest.  “Where is the data needed to finish this device?”_

_“Destroyed,” he answered, his voice echoing throughout the court.  “Along with the ISS Kelvin.  I assume you are aware of just how much was lost to your throne when you lose a ship.”  He purposefully forgot her title._

_“Surely a scientist like you would keep a secondary file on something you’re working on,” the Empress hissed.  “Where are_ those _records?”_

_Though nearing exhaustion rapidly, he summoned enough energy for an arrogant half-smile as he touched his index finger to his head.  “In here.”_

 

And he knew it was the only reason why he was not executed.  He knew it was the only reason why he had been taken to this place along with Winona Kirk.  He knew it was the reason why his unfinished device had accompanied him.  They were hoping he would finish it.  He was normally left alone, with the exception of recreation and meals, by the staff for long periods of time.  He would typically receive treatment once every thirteen days.  But he noticed that this routine had recently been changed.  There was now only five days between treatments. 

He wondered why that could be.  Perhaps what the Caitian prisoner had said before her execution was coming into play.  He looked at Winona in her cell.  He certainly hoped so. 

His view was suddenly interrupted by the Director.  The man that had received the position he should have held, and would have held, had it not been for the suspicion the Empress had towards him because of his unnamed device.  “Come, Doctor van Gelder,” he said as he lowered the force field of his cell.  “Let’s have another long talk about your device.”  Two burly security guards came forward and grabbed each of his arms, dragging him away from his cell. 

But he managed to look back to Winona and throw her a confident smile. 

 

            ~X~X~X~X~X~ 

 

“I get nervous every time someone comes around that corner,” admitted M’Benga with a slight tremor in his voice.  He huffed through his nose as petite hands came around him, teasing the hem of his uniform shirt.  He could feel her breath as she spoke against his back.

“I don’t walk as heavily as McCoy, do I? That would either make him dainty or make me heavy as a Gorn.”

He chuckled deep in his throat as he watched the latest version of their compound mixing.  It had failed to stabilize for the last seven attempts, all modifications useless.  He knew it was possible to synthesize it, but the exact process was escaping his talents.  “No, Chrissy.  You’re certainly not a Gorn.”  The mixture was going well.  Perhaps this would be the reaction they needed to stabilize the formula.  “McCoy might be a Gorn, but you’re not.”  He felt her giggle against him.

They were silent as M’Benga watched the reaction, and as Christine continued to tease him.  M’Benga tensed when the reaction failed to stabilize.  He grabbed her wrists in frustration, feeling her tense against him.  Their rigidity matched.  “How is your project going?”

“The Vulcan suppressor?”

“Yeah, the airborne compound.”

She freed one of her wrists from his hold so that she could come around him to smile wickedly at his frustration.  “Better than yours.  It’s almost complete and should be ready for testing in two or three hours.”  He knew what she was about to say before she swayed her hips just so as she came even closer to him.  “I thought you were supposed to be better at this.”

M’Benga’s hand flew forward and clamped onto her lower jaw, effectively silencing her, and reminding her just who was heading their scheme.  “Watch your tongue, Nurse, or you might find it removed.”

He saw no fear in her eyes.  She managed to speak through clenched teeth.  “I thought you like my tongue.”

M’Benga did like her tongue, just not when she thought she could use it for something other than his pleasure.  He pushed her away from him by the grip on her jaw.  She stumbled until catching herself on one of the lab tables.  “Go prance around McCoy and keep his attention on you while I get this back to where I have trouble.”

But she didn’t obey.  She came right up to him again.  “We need Moreau.”

“I don’t need that whore to help me.”

“She’s a better chemist than the both of us, and you know it,” she seethed.  “Do you want McCoy gone?  Moreau will get you there faster than your own efforts.”

M’Benga shook his head.  “Then, I’ll owe the bitch something.”

Chapel giggled.  “Since she’s got Mitchell, it’s not like she’ll be asking for your dick.  You don’t have the authority on this ship that she likes anyway.”

“Well, how come I have you, then?  You and Moreau operate almost the same.”  It wasn’t an insult.  It was a simple observation.  He knew she would not take offense to it. 

She ran her hand over his short hair slowly.  “Because I like your potential for power.  Moreau likes the ones in charge.  But I like the ones who have the ambition for something more.”  He understood what she was saying.  Moreau had nowhere higher to go if she sought the beds of those having the most power, but there was always someone below them and aspiring to usurp the person with whom Moreau aligned herself.  “You could always kill her if she becomes trouble after she helps you.”

M’Benga returned to his task.  Sometimes Christine Chapel could prove incredibly distracting.  “She’s your friend.”

“Not when she wants what I want.  And once Mitchell tires of her, there aren’t many others she’ll be able to latch on to that has power.  But with McCoy out of the way, you will have some power she likes.”  She leaned closer to him, dropping her voice to a soft whisper.  “But she can’t have you because you’re mine.”

She turned and walked to the corner that separated the main medical bay from the non-hazardous labs in which they were working.  Apparently, McCoy had chosen just that moment to look in her direction.  M’Benga heard his shout from where he stood.  “Chapel! Let me see how you two are coming along with that gaseous form of the inhibitor.” 

Christine hissed at him.  “Hide it!”  He shook his head.  Was she stupid?  He couldn’t stop it now.  The best he could hope for was that McCoy didn’t look too closely at this mixture so that he could pass it off as the beginning stages of their project for the Vulcan hyposprays.  She came to stand beside him, trying to contain the nervous expression that they’d be found out, and doing well with it, as McCoy came around the corner.  As usual, he maintained an impressive distance from them.  M’Benga knew the man was paranoid of being assassinated. 

“How’s it coming along, M’Bingo?”

He hated that.  He knew McCoy knew his name, but called him something stupid to see if he’d react.  He knew that if he did, he would end up in the brig, the agony booth, or worse – on one of McCoy’s dissection tables as the senior doctor cut him open without painkillers, numbing agents, or mercy.  They were fates he wished to avoid, so he dealt with McCoy’s game.  He stared at his creation intended for McCoy, his determination for success rising.  “It’ll be ready by the end of the day.”  He knew McCoy was thinking about the Vulcan suppressor, but M’Benga was talking about something much different. 

“Good,” McCoy said.  “We’re all kind of tired of going one by one.  I know I can’t wait to stop giving these Vulcans hypos individually.”

M’Benga couldn’t help the small grin.  “Soon you won’t have to.” 

A beeping sounded among them, and it took him a moment to realize it was a communicator.  “Kirk to McCoy.”

“McCoy here.  What is it?”

M’Benga stopped caring and listening at that point.  McCoy had gone back into the main area of the bay among his Vulcan experiments.  At least, they would soon be experiments if M’Benga had anything to do with it.  He turned to Chapel.  “Call Moreau.”

 

            ~X~X~X~X~X~ 

 

From his place in the rear of the shuttle, he was able to hear what was said in front of him quite clearly.  It was a product of his genetics, this ability of heightened hearing.  In times before, it had afforded him far more information than he had ever needed or wanted.  Other times, it had proved useful and – at times – lifesaving.  And now, he was prepared to use that advantage of superior hearing to possibly save his own life. 

He heard the human piloting the shuttle in conversation with someone.  He assumed it was someone on the surface of their destination.  There was a request for clearance codes in order to lower a security shield.  And nearly immediately afterward he felt the descent of the shuttle in which he was being escorted, but he did not yet know where that was. 

The shuttle touched down at their destination, but it was still unclear as to the location for him.  The door slid aside a moment later, and Captain Pike stood from the pilot’s seat.  “You’ll have to conceal yourself.”  He recognized the Romulan Pike spoke to, Ayel.  Nero’s second.  The Romulan nodded and stood from the co-pilot’s chair before coming to the back of the shuttle, but not without neglecting to send a hateful glare in his direction. 

Pike strode to him and grabbed an upper arm.  He allowed the human to believe he had sufficient strength to force him to stand.  But even at his advanced age, he would quite easily injure the human captain.  The Romulan, however, could prove a challenge.  No, he was still clever.  He would play along for the time being.  He got to his feet and allowed himself to be escorted to the door of the shuttle.  He heard the voice before he saw the man approaching the shuttle.

“Captain Pike, what are you bringing me today to guard for the Empress?”

“Old Vulcan that has dangerous knowledge that can hurt our Empress,” Pike responded.

The other man laughed.  “Don’t all of my children have that?”

Then, he saw him standing in front of two men and only a few feet from the shuttle.  And when he recognized him, he knew precisely where he had been delivered. 

Before him stood Doctor Tristan Adams of the Tantalus Penal Institution.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

When she opened her eyes, it took her a moment to remember her location and how she had gotten there.  The bedding that surrounded her comforted her in its warmth and soothed her in its softness.  She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath as she allowed herself a quiet moment of peace before she examined her surroundings a little more closely.  She did not even know if she was alone. 

“Are you awake?”  Obviously, she was not alone.

T’Kyi’i turned her head to face the direction from which the question sounded, and found herself looking at a young human with light and curly hair.  Then, she remembered.  This was her bondmate.  She nodded in answer to his question.  “I am conscious.”

He smiled shyly.  “Good.”  He ducked his head low and did not look at her. 

It was silent for several awkward minutes.  T’Kyi’i was uncertain as to what she should do or say.  This human, Lieutenant Pavel Andreivich Chekov, was different than the other humans she had observed so far.  She had seen other humans strike her people, beat her people.  But this young man seemed reluctant to touch her.  To go near her.  Was there something defective about her that made him want to maintain his distance?  Was he afraid of her?  He did not react well to their minds joining when they were bonded.  Perhaps he did not wish to get close enough to her and risk her initiating a meld.  She would never force one on him, but she did not know how to reassure him of this.  Perhaps the explanation was simply that she was displeasing to him in some way. 

“I don’t know what you eat, so I…”  His voice trailed off uncertainly as he glanced to his left.  She followed his gaze and looked through the metal meshed divider of what she assumed was his quarters.  On the table was a meal.  A meal for one. 

“What is it?” Her curiosity overruled her caution.

This seemed to please him.  His shy smile grew.  “It is breakfast.”  He stepped toward the bed offering an open hand to her, revealing that he held no weapon in his approach.  “I thought you might be hungry.”

She was indeed.  She had not eaten anything since before she was brought to her aborted bonding ceremony on Vulcan.  She sat up in the bed and brought her bound hands out from underneath the covers, taking his extended hand in both of hers.  As soon as she touched his skin, she felt her mate’s surface emotion.  She managed to avoid gasping at the sensation of another’s thoughts.  But when she looked at his face, she saw that his smile had vanished and a frown had taken its place.  Was his offered hand a trick? She tensed.

But then, he brought his other hand up and touched her bindings.  He sighed.  “I will ask the captain to release these today.”

With a gentle urging from her bondmate, T’Kyi’i removed herself from the bed, standing in the unfamiliar rooms.  In her peripheral vision she saw an odd shape.  Turning her gaze to her left, she recognized a type of sofa with a blanket and pillow piled on it.  It had been used recently.  This observation only took an instant before she met Pavel’s eyes, which looked at her with a nervousness that surprised her. 

He did not speak further as he led her to the little table and helped her settle at it.  He pointed to each item on the table as he made her aware of what each item of human food was in front of her.  “This is vanilla yogurt, with small bowl of oats.  You put them in yogurt.  It is good.”  T’Kyi’i did not know what precisely yogurt was, but her hunger outweighed her concern.  She followed his instructions and poured the oats on top of the yogurt.  Pavel smiled at her action and then picked up her spoon to stir the oats into the thick white substance, as he resumed his explanation.  “I did not know what kind of juice you like, so that is apple.  Children like it, so I thought it would be good one to start.”  He seemed to realize what he said, and how she could interpret it, because his eyes widened and he looked directly at her.  “Not that I think of you as child. But—”

She tried to offer him a kind smile.  “I understand.”  After all, he was being extremely considerate and attentive.  It was a vast deal more than she had expected from any human on this vessel, to say nothing of what she had expected of her bondmate.  He seemed to understand her intention.  He pointed to a pastry-like item.  “These are sweet rolls with raspberry jam.  I had them when I was a boy and at home.”

“Where is home?  On Terra, but…where specifically?”

And this time when he looked at her, he truly smiled.  “Russia.” 

“And these sweet rolls are native to Russia?”

He nodded.  She immediately took one in her fingers and bit into it.  She knew she said the correct thing – and it was not a lie in any way – when her comment of approval received a beaming smile from Pavel.  For the first time since being unexpectedly transported from her planet, T’Kyi’i was very close to comfortable as she ate what her new bondmate provided for her for her morning meal.  It took her a minute of processing these new tastes when she noticed that he was not joining her.  “Are you not in need of nourishment?”

Pavel shook his head.  “I have eaten.  I should go.  I am navigator on alpha shift today.”  He turned away and finished dressing, which only meant he needed to attach the weapon she had seen used on Spockh in the sickbay, the one that caused intense pain. 

She was trying to catalogue the taste of the sweet rolls when Pavel spoke again.  “Do not leave these rooms.  I do not want anyone to find you and hurt you.”  He looked around the rooms searchingly.  “I do not have many things to entertain you, but you may touch what you want.  They are your rooms too, now.”  He opened his mouth to continue, but then seemed to change his mind.  He gave her a sharp nod and went to the door. 

He heard him shout, “Captain!”  She was on her feet before he had finished asking the man if he could see him.  She followed him out of the room to come up behind him, looking at this other human critically.  What had become of her cousin?  Had this man harmed him?  Was he even alive?  And more importantly, how would she find out? But she dared not ask the captain directly.    

“What is it?” the captain asked her mate.

T’Kyi’i swept her gaze about the corridor and saw their small group was on the receiving end of many curious or hostile glances.  When Pavel did not, she spoke.  “Perhaps, Captain, we may speak briefly?” she gestured to the door to Pavel’s quarters.  The man understood what she was truly saying when he glanced left and right only moving his eyes. He did not respond verbally, but instead mirrored her gesture to the door. 

Pavel turned and led both of them into his quarters. As soon as the door slid shut again, the captain asked, “What do you want?”

She knew she could not ask this.  It had to come from Pavel.  But she did not look at him.  She knew that it could be misinterpreted by the captain as several things.  That she had manipulated him into this request.  That she was using their bond to force him to make the request.  No.  It had to come from Pavel.  She cast her eyes to the floor and waited.  It did not take long. 

“Can you remove her bindings?”

She heard the amusement in the other man’s voice.  “Already that fond of your toy?”

“I simply find it difficult to find enjoyment by having to maneuver around them.  I do not share your preference for having helpless victims.”

T’Kyi’i stiffened in shock by her mate’s bold statements.  Did he want to be punished?  A moment later, she heard the captain softly chuckling as hands that were not Pavel’s grasped her shoulders and pushed her to sit on the bed.  She was stiff in fear, but she refused to let this older human see that.  His hands grabbed her bound wrists and swiftly deactivated her cuffs.  They fell away and as she stared at her freed wrists, he had quickly released her ankles.  Her chin was grabbed and she was forced to look into his blue eyes.  “Nothing to say, little dove?”

She was too stunned by the actions of this man to analyze the strange name he’d called her.  Before she was truly aware of it, she was distantly aware of saying, “Thank you, Captain.”

He let her go and strode past Pavel, who was looking at her in what she recognized as an attempt at reassurance.  She watched as he joined his captain by the table where she had been eating.  A strange expression appeared on the captain’s face before he brought his communication device up.  “Kirk to McCoy.”

The speed at which the doctor answered was surprisingly immediate.  “McCoy here.  What is it?”

The captain was staring at the items on the table.  “When you visit my Vulcan, make sure he bathes and give him something to eat.  I…didn’t have the time to tend to him, and he’s probably hungry.”  He lowered the device for a second before bringing it up again.  “But no meat.  He’s vegetarian.”

“Aye, Captain. Am I still giving him an examination?”

“Yeah.  He – uh—”  A cruel smile spread on the man’s face. It was not a pleasant expression to see.  “Well, you know how virgins are.  They’re delicate, even with a little preparation from certain doctors.”  She could not breathe.  This man had obviously hurt her cousin, but how badly?  He seemed proud of himself for causing pain to someone else.

The answer this time was not so quick from the doctor.  He hesitated.  “Understood, sir.”

“Kirk out.”  T’Kyi’i found herself stabbed by the captain’s gaze.  She felt like a specimen on view.  “Chekov, we have to go.”  He plucked a sweet roll from the plate and led the smaller man out of the chambers.  She only managed to hear him tell another man to, “Make sure those are returned to security later,” before she was left alone in the rooms.  She finally allowed herself to breathe. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~ 

 

His memory was proving to be as sharp as it was in his youth.  He closely observed as Doctor Adams keyed in his security code to permit them into the lift that delivered them into the subterranean keep of the prison.  He closely observed the guard entering the activation code for the security shield.  As he was led through the corridors of the prison, he constructed a mental list of the number and direction of the turns they were traveling.  He knew this place.  They would attempt to drug him into submission, to torture his mind, to force him to forget his former life. 

But he had been drugged before.

He had been tortured many times.

And he could never forget any of it. 

They brought him to a shielded doorway, and he once again closely observed the process that deactivated the force field that would allow their passage into the corridor containing the holding cells beyond.  He passed by several cells that contained various types of alien species, all of whom were watching him as he was brought into their domain.  He looked each one in the eye.  He had the time to do so, since he was being escorted at an unusually slow pace.  He assumed Doctor Adams was showing off his new…child, as he’d phrased it. 

He brought his gaze to the next cell to meet the gaze of a man who seemed incredibly lucid for a prisoner on Tantalus.  They studied each other shrewdly.  With a brief internal start, he recognized him.  Doctor Simon van Gelder.  He had not expected him to be among the prisoners.  He had expected him to be working alongside the very man that led him to his new home – a cell. 

He turned his head to meet the next prisoner’s gaze, but this time he unintentionally faltered in his pace.  There was nothing he could do to prevent it as his surprise was so great.  He would recognize the woman anywhere, but he had never thought it would have been here.  Winona Kirk.  She seemed as surprised by his arrival as much as he had been surprised by her presence.  He saw her mouth the words in shock.  _A Vulcan._

Only at the next cell to the right of Simon van Gelder’s did his escort party stop.  There was already someone in this cell.  He watched as Adams deactivated the force field.  The man in the cell did not move.  There was a hat covering his eyes, and he was sprawled on the low cot.  For a moment, he wondered if he lived.  He confirmed his state of living by a lazily shouted, “What now?” Other than his mouth, the man still did not move. 

A moment later, he was shoved inside the cell, and he heard the sound of the force field being reactivated.  “Wake up, and greet your new cellmate!” shouted Adams.  He heard the man’s footsteps walking away from his new cell. 

The reclining man yanked his hat from his eyes, and glared at him as though his very presence was completely unacceptable to him.  Slowly, he felt his lips stretch in a pleased smile.  The glare of the other man turned to a look of confusion.  “What?”

“Fascinating,” he mused aloud.

The man huffed but otherwise made no movement to rise.  “What’s so bloody fascinating, Vulcan?”

He realized with stunning clarity that the younger man lying in front of him could very well be the key to his escaping this place. 

“You are Montgomery Scott.”

His eyes narrowed as his glare returned.  “Aye, that’s me,” he said slowly.  “And who might you be?”

He took a deep breath, then for the first time since he’d arrived in this time introduced himself.  “I am Spock.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

At the sound of the door hissing open, Spockh was instantly and fully awake.  He did not remember that the doctor was supposed to come to him until the man walked through the door, with a small kit tucked under one arm while his other hand rested on his dagger.  Spockh wondered at the man’s skill in using it.  Now, however, was not the time to satisfy that curiosity. 

When Doctor McCoy spoke, his tone was surprisingly soft.  “How’d you do last night, kid?”

The question surprised him.  He blinked as he formed a response.  “I do not know.”

One corner of the man’s mouth curved upward.  “Well, you’re alive, so that’s something.”  He put his kit down on the wall shelving in front of the mesh divider.  He began removing some items, laying them near the kit as he continued.  “Did you give him trouble?”

Spockh closed his eyes as the doctor’s question triggered flashes of his experience last night to invade his mind.  He remembered the captain’s hands touching him, stroking him, holding him down, and pulling his hair, his body keeping him spread open.  He closed his eyes and tried to force the images, the sensations, aside.  He opened his eyes to see McCoy studying him.  He swallowed.  “At first, yes.”

McCoy nodded, gesturing to the covers the shielded Spockh’s body from his view.  “Take those off.  Let’s see what kind of damage you brought on yourself.”

“I did not ask for this,” he protested.  “I did nothing to warrant this treatment.  I do not desire to be here.”

The doctor didn’t say anything for a minute.  He simply stood there, waiting to be obeyed.  “Would you rather be dead like your mother?”  Spockh did not know what to say to that.  He looked closely at McCoy, trying to find some cruelty in his body language in the question, but he was surprised not to find anything resembling it.  He found something he could not fully identify.  And it confused him.  He stared at the doctor in a silent battle before he admitted defeat, drawing back the covers to reveal his body to the doctor.  “I thought not,” McCoy said, answering his own question. 

Spockh watched as the human ran his eyes over his body.  Spockh allowed himself to relax a little more in this man’s presence.  He knew that the doctor did not intend to hurt him or touch him sexually.  The captain looked at him in pure lust, while he realized that this man looked at him critically, with no primal urges whatsoever.  McCoy drew out his scanner and guided it above Spockh’s body checking for injuries.  He knew there were several, but none of them life-threatening.  He waited patiently for McCoy to finish his work with his scan silently and calmly. 

The man didn’t document what he found.  Instead he turned back to his kit and began to assemble several hypos.  “Someone once told me that for someone to prefer death is like losing hope.  We’ve all been there at some point, that hopelessness.”  He turned and injected him with a hypo, the medication releasing with a gentle hiss.  Spockh did not flinch; he was intently focused on what the doctor was saying.  “But then you come to realize, usually at the worst of it, that you’re still here.  And it must be for some reason.  Otherwise, you would’ve just killed yourself already.”

Spockh did not quite know what the human was trying to articulate, but he felt it required a response.  “There are those who lack the courage and fortitude to end their own lives.”

“I didn’t peg you for a coward, though.  You’re a fighter.”  He nodded to himself before he amended his words.  “Kind of.”  He’d activated a small dermal regenerator, like the one he had used on Spockh earlier to repair his split lip, and turned to look at him.  “You want some of those bruises gone?”

Spockh looked at himself.  He had not even realized that he had been bruised so much.  Why did humans enjoy intercourse so much if it resulted in injury?  Perhaps they were incapable of experiencing pleasure without also experiencing pain.  Spockh shuddered. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” muttered McCoy as he used his free hand to coax Spockh’s head up and expose his neck.  “He usually doesn’t like to choke his partners,” the doctor mused aloud.  He moved to continue his work on his lower body, gently parting his legs to treat his entrance.  Spockh felt like he was watching the doctor examine someone else’s body.  He was strangely detached from his own senses.  He had never experienced something like this.  When the doctor spoke, Spock was immediately returned to himself and his surroundings.  “Did you piss him off?”

Simultaneously, Spockh tried to remember and not to remember.  He remembered that he was not permitted to finish his meal, and that he had been thrown about the rooms until he had finally been pushed onto the bed.  He remembered the captain’s threats, the weight of the man on top of his body.  He remembered the man’s name.  “I—”  He remembered the pain.  Spockh couldn’t breathe now as he had had difficulty in breathing at the moment his body was claimed by the captain.  He pressed his lips together tightly, refusing to speak of what happened last night.  Just as James T. Kirk had covered his mouth with his hand at the beginning of their joining when his screaming had irritated the human.  He clenched his eyes in humiliation.

Yet he wanted to tell someone.  Not through pride that he now understood the mechanics of physical unions between two individuals, but because he wanted to understand how to avoid a repeat of the violence of last night’s encounter.  He felt soiled and degraded.  He was a descendent of Surak, the noblest line of his people.  Now, he was nothing more than a whore, his only purpose to provide sexual relief to a human who did not care to know his name until after he had taken his innocence by force.  He did not want this.  “Doctor, I—”

McCoy was pulling him into a seated position and bending him forward.  “Breathe, kid.  Don’t panic now.”  Spockh allowed the doctor to guide his body into position, and was strangely grateful that the man kept his hand on his spine.  “I can give you something to get your breathing under control, but—”

“I hate this.”

He heard the smile in the doctor’s voice.  “Hate what?  Not breathing?  I don’t know many people who like being unable to breathe.”  Spockh could not help the tiny upward curvature of his lips.  “There, see?  Better already.”  Spockh corrected his posture, but kept his eyes lowered to stare at his hands.  “For the record,” McCoy began gently, “I’d hate it if I were where you are, too.  Hell, you’re handling it better than I ever would.”

Spockh was confused.  “But you are where I am.”

“Am I?” the human asked, his eyes wide.  He extended both of his hands to him.  “Come on.  Let’s get you cleaned up so I can finish treating you.”  Spockh clasped his hands around the doctor’s forearms and allowed him to be his support as he put his feet on the floor.  Between McCoy pulling him to his feet and Spockh trying to get his muscles to obey him, they succeeded in getting him standing.  But as soon as he took one step, pain struck him, and Spockh felt his legs giving up.  McCoy quickly looped one of Spockh’s arms around the back of his neck, and curled his other arm around his bare waist.  “I got you.  I got you.” 

Spockh was suddenly overwhelmed by the doctor’s kindness.  His vision became blurred.  It took him a moment to realize that he was crying. 

He did not know how long it took McCoy to get him into the facilities.  He did not know how the doctor had managed to activate the water shower unit while supporting him.  He did not know how McCoy had maneuvered him into the water’s spray.  He felt the man’s fingers in his hair, working the cleanser through the strands, but his touch was completely devoid of any sexual thoughts. 

Spockh looked down at his feet and wished that he hadn’t.  The water below had diluted some of the blood from his abuse entrance that the captain failed to clean away.  He planted his hands against the wall in front of himself as he felt his legs shaking in their effort to keep him upright as the sensations and memories from last night assaulted him as effectively as the captain himself. 

“I know you didn’t ask for this, kiddo,” McCoy said softly as he began to clean Spockh’s body, not once asking him to move to give him easier access to a limb or area.  “But the thing is that you’re in this position now.  I’m not saying you have to like it, exactly, but you do have to make the best of it.”

Spockh finally looked at the doctor.  “How does one make the best of this?”

The doctor did not answer immediately.  He finished washing his body, and shut off the waterflow of the shower.  Had it been other circumstances, Spockh may have been able to study the sensations of what bathing in water felt like to his body as opposed to his accustomed sonic setting.  However, his mental and physical state did not allow for this. 

“You’re not quite right about my being in the same position as you.”

Spockh was wrapped in a soft towel and supported from the facilities.  “But you are to be bonded to my father.”

McCoy sighed.  “We bonded last night.”

Spockh was grateful that McCoy had helped him to sit on the edge of the bed at that moment, otherwise he most likely would have collapsed.  “Did you hurt him?”

“What?” 

He glared at the doctor.  “Did you hurt my father in the same way that Captain Kirk has hurt me?” 

He saw the moment the human understood.  “No.  No, I—Let’s just say we both agreed not to really touch each other until it became necessary.”  McCoy turned away from him and walked to a drawer where he began searching through the captain’s clothing. 

He did not see Spockh’s relief in the knowledge that his father was not sharing in his son’s abuse.  When he lifted his head, McCoy was standing in front of him holding a small bundle of clothing.  “They won’t fit you exactly right, but…He’s a little taller than you and a little bulkier.  But they’ll have to do for now.”  He put them down beside him on the bed.  McCoy gestured inaccurately toward the desk.  “I’ll be over there while you get dressed.”  And with that, the human left him as much to himself as was possible in the captain’s quarters. 

Slowly and gingerly, Spockh dressed himself in his captor’s clothing.  He could not remember what had happened to his own.  Had the man destroyed them?  With paralyzing clarity, Spockh realized that if that were the case, then he quite literally had nothing left of his homeworld.  He had nothing with him when he had been removed from the surface of Vulcan except his clothing.  And with that gone, he had absolutely nothing. 

He was completely dependent on Captain Kirk’s generosity, if it existed at all. 

“I am clothed, Doctor.” 

A moment later, McCoy came around the room divider and looked him over.  “Close enough, for now.”  He held a padd in one hand, and a stylus in the other.  “Let me just finish up a note here for Jim.”

He felt his brow come together.  “Jim?”

McCoy looked at him, shaking his head.  “The captain.”

“He informed me that his name was James.”

McCoy had gone back to his work.  “Jim is short for James.  He only lets a few of us get away with Jim, though.”  A quiet beep sounded as McCoy touched the stylus to the padd, but then McCoy fixed his gaze on his own.  “I bet he’d let you get away with it.”  He put down the padd.  “Not yet, though.  Soon.  You should try it one day.”

“I refuse to incite his anger and bring it upon myself.”

McCoy laughed.  “Yeah, probably better for you.  Alright,” he said, picking up several items from near his kit and kneeling in front of Spockh.  “Lift up one of your feet.  Let’s get your ankles patched up.”

Spockh thought that it would be incredibly simple to kick the man in his face, but while it may be mentally satisfying, he could not harm this man who did not commit him any injury.  McCoy had done nothing but helped him.  He lifted a foot and rested it on the doctor’s thigh.  He watched as ointment was spread over his torn and raw skin, and a bandage was wrapped around his ankle to cover it.  The same process was repeated with his other foot.  “And your hands.”  Obediently, Spockh extended one of his hands toward the doctor and watched as it was tended to and bandaged, followed by his other injured wrist.  The doctor stood when he was finished, leaving his equipment on the floor.

“You should heal just fine.  Now, kiddo, let’s get some food in you.”  Spockh refused McCoy’s assistance and struggled to his weakened legs on his own.  He trailed after McCoy around the room divider to see that the small table had been set out with a steaming liquid and a colorful dish of food.  “That’s green tea and some fruit.  Jim told me you were vegetarian so there’s no meat.  It’s not much.” 

‘It is more than sufficient.”  Spockh stared at the small meal in stunned silence and dazedly lowered himself into the chair he had occupied the previous evening, hissing as his posterior contacted the hard surface of the chair, but willing it away in order to focus his attention on what he was about to consume.  “I thank thee, Leonard,” he whispered, knowing he failed to keep his voice steady.

“Captain’s orders, Spock.”

McCoy walked back to where his equipment rested, most likely to prepare to leave him alone in these quarters.  But his voice carried.  “I’ve let the captain know you’re not fit for penetrative sex until you heal, which could be in a few days.  That doesn’t mean he won’t take his pleasure from you in other ways.  Most likely you’ll be using your mouth for something other than speaking and eating, but—”

Spockh managed to choke down the fruit, noting its texture and taste – both of which he decided to categorize as pleasant – as the doctor’s words registered with him.  “I am disgraced in the eyes of my people, am I not?” 

“It was actually chance that had him choose you.  He had no idea you were practically royalty on Vulcan.”  McCoy had come around the divider and seemed amused when Spockh looked at him in surprise. “Your father might have mentioned it.”

Spockh sipped the tea slowly, uncertain of the taste.  “I have nothing to which I can look forward until my death, as I am now forever tied to a man who only wishes my presence in order to take liberties with my body, yet affording none to me.”

McCoy sat in the chair across from him.  “Let me ask you something.  Did he hurt you this morning?”  Spockh did not have time to respond.  “I can tell that he didn’t.  If he just wanted to hurt you, he would have just fucked you again this morning, not caring if you were injured from taking you last night.  But he didn’t, did he?”  Spockh shook his head.  “Then, there are two ways to look at your situation.  The first, which you seem believe, is that these quarters are a new prison for you that you can never leave, and are cut off from everything you’ve ever known. The second, and I want you to think about this, is that Kirk wants you to stay here so that no one finds you.  I’m betting on the second.”

“Why?”

McCoy was not so subtle in nudging the bowl of fruit closer to him.  Spockh took the hint and continued to eat as the man’s voice hardened.  “Believe it or not, kid, Jim wants you safe.  He likes you.  If he didn’t like you, he would’ve taken you right there in my sickbay no matter what I’d said to get him off you.  And if he didn’t like you, after he finished with you, he would’ve let you fall where he’d fucked you, he wouldn’t have taken you here, away from the crew.  By this time today, if he didn’t like you, you could have been found by someone, who wouldn’t care if you were still bleeding or in pain, because all they’d care about is having you.  And when they caused more pain to you than you could bear, they’d pass you to another man, and another, and another until you’d been bloodied and fucked by so many that you couldn’t move because you were barely alive.”  Spockh felt his stomach threaten to bring up what he had just consumed.  “I’ve seen it happen,” McCoy said, his voice much softer.  “I’ve seen it happen even to women the captain got tired of because they’d either betrayed him, or tried to kill him, or simply stopped pleasing him.”

Spockh choked on his own voice.  McCoy stood and walked away from him.  Spockh began to revise his thoughts on his situation.  He no longer believed it was one or the other as McCoy had described, but a mixture of the two.  He may not strictly be a prisoner – that his bindings had been removed was evidence against it – but he was still prevented from leaving his cage.  He was the captain’s pet, his plaything.  Regardless, Spockh did not wish to remain in such disgrace forever.  He refused to stay in such disgrace forever. 

An object was place beside his hand on the table.  It was a book.  He touched the solid cover.  “To pass the time when Kirk’s not here.  He has a small collection.  If he didn’t want you to touch them, he would have locked them away.” 

Keeping his eyes on the book, he replied, “Perhaps he did not think of it.”

Spockh felt McCoy’s hand on his back between his shoulder blades.  “You said some people are too afraid to take their own lives.  I don’t see you as a coward, though.  So how come you haven’t killed yourself?”

“Because my father’s safety depends on my life.”

“The real reason.”

Spockh suddenly understood what McCoy had been trying to tell him earlier.  “Because I hope my life will not stay like this.”  He met McCoy’s eyes.  “If I am no longer living, then I cannot help my people.”

“Do you want to?”

Spockh nodded at the doctor.  “Yes.”

“Good,” McCoy said.  “I just told you how to put yourself in danger.  Don’t betray him, and don’t try to kill him.  All you have to do is keep pleasing him.  You’ll have to start by spreading your legs for him when he demands it.”  Spockh could not prevent himself from shuddering.  “But,” McCoy continued, his tone changing a little.  “If you don’t want to be known as the captain’s whore, then show him you’re worth more than your body to him.  He likes intelligence.  You smart?”  Spockh nodded.  “Show him that, then.  You have it in yourself to be his equal.  Slowly let him see that, and you’ll find he’ll give you the liberties you want.” 

Spockh stared at McCoy is shock.  Was the man suggesting defiance?  Would his protestation of his treatment displease Kirk enough to do precisely what McCoy had spoken of – to be raped by the crewmen until he begged for death?  Not if he asked gradually, slowly.  Spockh had no idea how to begin this kind of gentle persuasion.  He was never a warrior of Vulcan.  He distantly heard the door to the quarters open and hiss shut again before realizing that the doctor had left him alone once more.  

Then he looked down at the book McCoy had set before him.  Had the doctor seen what he was – a Vulcan scholar?  Perhaps this book would help him to answer his questions, and McCoy had chosen it for that very reason instead of simply a diversion with which to occupy his time.  He did not recognize the title or the author.  Spockh opened the book as he reached for the cooling green tea, sipping it as he began to read The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli.


	10. Dissension

With Farrell at his back in the turbolift, Kirk allowed himself to relax just a little bit.  He glanced to his right and noticed that Chekov was staring straight ahead at the doors, as though thinking about arriving on the bridge would make it happen faster.  Kirk shook his head.  “So, how’s your new whore?”

Chekov stiffened.  His reply was icy.  “She is not my whore, Captain.”  He looked at Kirk out of the corner of his eye.  “She is my wife.”

He would be lying to himself if he were to say he wasn’t surprised by his younger friend’s claim.  “You move fast,” he stated, trying to sound both impressed and approving. 

But it did not fool Chekov.  He did not relax at all.  “Not as fast as you, it seems.”

Kirk turned to face the youth, crossing his arms over his chest.  “What are you saying, Pavel?”

His friend’s gaze met his bravely.  “I did not sleep with her.”  Suddenly, Chekov seemed to grow shy, shifting his gaze downward when Farrell chuckled in the lift.  “It was not right time.”

Kirk smiled to himself as he thought of last night.  That creature would never sleep alone again.  He was going to be there every time that pale body was in his bed – to touch as he pleased until they were both exhausted from pleasure.  Kirk thought of his bedmate.  How smooth his Vulcan’s skin was, how he responded after a while, his slick tightness, his tears.  Kirk’s smile vanished at that thought as less pleasing memories took over.  The bruises on Spock’s hips, his quiet sobs, and his silent fear. 

He saw the moment that Chekov realized he was thinking of something less than pleasant.  Kirk tightly smiled at him.  “You’re more patient than me.”

Chekov nodded.  “I always have been.”

“Yeah,” Kirk agreed.  The turbolift chimed as it stopped and the doors slid apart.

“Captain on the bridge!” announced his new first officer.  Kirk strode firmly and directly to Gary Mitchell, who abandoned his seated position and now stood beside the command chair.  Just over Gary’s shoulder, Kirk saw Chekov relieve the navigator on duty and lower himself into the station seat.  But not before giving a polite nod to the shift’s helmsman.  In this case, Hikaru Sulu. 

But Gary had yet to move aside for Kirk.  They stared at each other for far longer than was necessary.  “You are relieved, Mitchell.”

Gary did not move, but he did allow a small, arrogant grin to spread only on the left of his mouth.  “Aren’t you curious about the ship’s status, _sir_?”

Kirk took a deep breath through his nose.  He shouldn’t take this from Mitchell, of all people.  He matched Gary’s arrogant bravado.  “I’m sure that if anything noteworthy happened while I was gone, you would make me aware of it, _Commander_.”  It was a statement, not a request.  He knew Mitchell could tell the difference.

The darker man nodded once, slowly.  “Of course, sir.”

Kirk took a step closer to his first officer.  Mitchell didn’t move nor did he flinch.  “Status of my ship,” he ordered. 

There was a flash of victory in Mitchell’s eyes.  Kirk hated it.  “Steadily in pursuit of the Romulan ship, maintaining farther distance, but still constant.”

Kirk needed more information than that.  If Mitchell wasn’t going to provide it, he would demand it of someone who would.  “Uhura, any chatter from the Romulans?”

He did not look away from Mitchell as Uhura replied.  “Communication  throughout their ship is active, but—”  She hesitated.  Kirk distantly thought it was odd.  Uhura rarely hesitated.  “Captain Pike is no longer aboard the Romulan vessel.”

That was unexpected.  Either Pike had been killed and his corpse dumped into space, or he had escaped from the ship.  Either option was simple to confirm.  “Sulu,” Kirk said, an uneasy weight settling in his gut as the grin grew on Mitchell’s face.  “Activate Pike’s subcutaneous tracker.”  If it responded Pike was alive and traceable, but if there was no signal transmitting…

It wasn’t Sulu that answered, but Mitchell.  “It was activated hours ago.”

Kirk felt his expression harden.  “On whose order?”

“Mine.”

Something in him was near its limit.  Without conscious effort, his voice lowered dangerously.  “You don’t give the orders on this ship, Mitchell.”

Gary didn’t waver.  “As your first officer, when—”

“As first officer,” Kirk mocked, raising his voice to overpower the other man.  “You are to continue obeying my orders in my absence—”

“—you aren’t here, you pass command to me—”

“—and should you countermand me, you will not like the result.”

That brought Mitchell up short, but not in the way Kirk wanted.  He looked at him as though he were a stupid child.  “Threats like that might work on your new toy, but you need to remember who you’re talking to, Kirk.”

It reached the limit.  Kirk moved quicker than it would take him to blink.  His fist sent his first officer to the deck in front of the command chair.  “So, do you, Mitchell.”  Finally, with him out of his way, Kirk lowered himself into the center seat, keeping his gaze trained on the other man the entire time.  “Man your damn station, Commander. That’s an order.”

Mitchell brought the back of his hand to his lip to check for blood.  “We’ll be watching each other very closely, won’t we, sir?”

Kirk did just that as Gary stood and then went to his station.  When he turned back toward the viewscreen, he caught Chekov observing him.  Knowing that the younger man could read almost all of his barely decipherable expressions, Kirk gave him a plea he would never dare speak aloud. 

‘Help me.’

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He didn’t know how he had remained in control of himself for the entirety of that High Council Session, but somehow he had managed it.  In a daze, he’d come home and did not stop moving until he had entered the family’s Chambers of the Victorious, where he fell to his knees.  He fell in the center of the large room, which was always kept lit by the small flames set in front of each memorial stone, the light reflecting boldly on the weapon each family member chose to signify their place in the chamber, marking their lives as fierce warriors. 

 

_“None of the fallen were recovered, but based on the damage the vessel had caused to our ships, there were none left living.”_

_“How many ships were—”_

_“Forty-seven of our Warbirds.”_

_“How many warriors were lost?”_

_“All of their crew.”_

_“Just short of one thousand, one-hundred and thirty.”_

_“Exactly.”_

_“One thousand, one-hundred and twenty-eight.”_

_“Against one ship?”_

_“They died in battle.  It is a good way to die.”_

_“With honor.”_

 

But there would be no way for him to mourn her with the honor she deserved.  It was at this moment that he wished his people were capable of tears – but they did not possess tear ducts.  He could not weep for his now dead mate, even if he desired to do so.  He did not have her body.  She may have died with honor, doing her duties on the Offensive Force, but she deserved a better way to die.  A more glorious end. 

He remembered her victory many years ago.  She had contacted him from the bridge of her ship, looking proud and victorious as she described the events on the edge of their space.  She and the rest of her fleet had discovered a battle.  A hopeless battle between a very tiny ship and one so large it made the smaller vessel seem insignificant.  And they monitored the transmissions coming from the smaller ship.  Tlha recounted it had been a private message, filled with emotion, and laced with duty.  Their translators were out of practice, but the main flow of the conversation between the male and female was deciphered.  The male was in command of the tiny vessel, and had remained behind courageously to fight for the safety of his crew.  But Tlha knew better than that.  He did not remain behind to ensure his crew’s survival.  He had remained behind to ensure his mate’s survival. 

She had only moments to be conflicted about her opinion of the male in this instance.  He was showing courage, and valor, and bravery by giving his life for his mate.  Yet, in that same moment, he was denying that same honor to the female.  The reason was clear moments later, when the wailing of an infant was heard in their conversation.  Names were untranslatable in languages, and so some words remained in the Terran language.  Among them were ‘Jim’ and ‘Tiberius’ – words that had no meaning to Tlha at that moment. 

It had not mattered minutes later when the male ran the tiny ship directly into the massive vessel, causing it and him to cease fighting.  A choice had then presented itself to Tlha – capture the Terrans aboard the dozens of escape shuttles, or seek greater glory and seize this giant battleship before them.  Her choice had been simple.  Attack upon the larger vessel would end with honor – whether they succeeded in the capture of it, or if they died in their fearless attack upon it. 

Tlha had attacked the large ship, and succeeded in its capture.  The crew consisted of Romulans.  They had only seen them once, but they were not so…marked in the encounter.  They were all quickly gathered and taken to the brigs on their own ships.  Only several key personnel remained aboard to run the functions of the ship as she directed them to their destination.  It had been a trip Tlha took many times, as she was charged with the patrol, attack, and capture of any vessel that approached their Empire’s space.  All detainees were to be taken to the dilithium mines on Rura Penthe. 

She had been rewarded substantially. 

He charged to one of the mounted weapons above the stone for his own honored father.  As soon as he took the weapon into his hands, he began the individual battle skills training movements.  Fighting helped.  He was grateful he did not have a live opponent at the moment, as he knew that opponent would have ended up dead.  His shouting brought by his efforts echoed in the room.  He wanted to drown out each previous sound he made with another much louder, much fiercer cry. 

He had sat in the session of the High Council and listened to that report.  That the very same collection of Romulans Tlha had captured had escaped Rura Penthe, reclaimed their vessel, and slaughtered the very warriors that had first captured them many years earlier.  Those facts did not anger him. Only one had managed that reaction.

The Romulans had murdered his mate.  His Tlha. 

How was he going to tell their son?

He swung the weapon in the Conquering Exercise Movements.  Conquering.  Yes, he would conquer this, Tlha’s death.  He had conquered others before her.  This room was a testament to that. 

Tlha had died with honor.  He could not fully perform the death ritual she deserved without her body, but he could still warn the dead that his fierce mate was about to arrive in their presence.  With a final slash of the bat’leth through the air, he planted his feet, spread his arms wide, and threw back his head.   Keeping his eyes open as he would have hers in the ritual she should have had, Dev howled to proclaim her victory in the way that only a Klingon warrior was capable.

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

One of the benefits of being in charge of Security on an Imperial vessel was that no room was safe from surveillance.  The downside was that one of the job duties from ancient times never really changed – monitoring security footage feeds.  Giotto knew that some things were valuable and other conversations were trivial.  What made him last so long in his position was knowing which trivial conversations actually only seemed to be about nothing but contained far more information than what the simple words implied. 

Then, again, there were others aboard ships that were under the delusion that some rooms were not monitored and were not guarded in their wording.  Such was the case with a certain new Security Chief.  Giotto never liked Hikaru Sulu.  He was a bitter, angry little rat who needed to learn to watch his tongue.  Sure, he could scheme like the best officer in the fleet, but when it came to having the backbone to carry out those plans? That was where Sulu choked. 

But this was an interesting feed.  Sulu and Uhura sparring in the gymnasium center floor.  Their weapon of choice for the day seemed to be sword and dagger versus two daggers.  Giotto had underestimated Uhura only once in a fight.  He still had the scar on his leg to remind him never to do so again.  She was deadly with those daggers, and most people knew it.  It seemed that Sulu didn’t quite have that fact driven home enough yet.

He noticed they were speaking to each other.  At first, he thought they were only making wordless exclamations from their exertions, but realized there were actual words involved when Uhura’s lips moved as they stood stationary, waiting for the other to make the advance.  Giotto activated the voice receiver on their feed.

“—not happy with Security Chief and Tactical?”

Sulu charged, swinging the longer blade with practiced ease.  Uhura countered just as easily, flicking his weapon aside like an annoying insect.

“You can’t tell me you’re _just fine_ where you are!”

“Then, I won’t tell you that.”

When he paused in surprise at her words, she attacked with her blades, driving him back across the floor. “You are, aren’t you?  How?  _Why_?”

She continued to force him into the defensive stance. “Because I know I’m useful where I am.  I understand the enemy’s language, which has kept us alive quite a few times.”  Giotto nodded to himself. He could recall several instances of Uhura picking up communications from enemy vessels, relaying those communications to Captain Pike, and making it possible to destroy the enemy before they had the chance to mobilize and capture them.  Yes, Giotto admitted, Uhura was valuable.

“What?” Sulu decided to physically turn the tables and pushed back against her advances. 

“How do you think we were the only ship to survive coming to Vulcan?  Because I know Romulan! Why else do you think I was assigned here?”

“Because Kirk likes you.”

Uhura scoffed, as she deflected Sulu’s sword.  “Just because almost every other woman in the Empire will gladly let him rut all over her, does not mean I’m one of them.”  She laughed as he repeated the same strike she had just deflected moments ago.  She repeated her defense. 

“But he does like you.”

She lazily let him take out his anger on the attack.  “Jealous, Sulu?  Everyone knows he doesn’t like you.”

“I don’t need Kirk.”

Uhura kicked Sulu directly in his right hip, throwing his balance off enough to allow her to disarm him of his saber.  He recovered his balance in time to deflect her suddenly aggressive charge.  “And he doesn’t need you.  Haven’t you wondered why he still allows Giotto clearance to security feeds when he made you chief?”

Giotto leaned forward, intrigued by her.  She was quick, Uhura, both in combat and brains.  He hoped she was not being careless with her words.  He panned out to see the rest of the gymnasium.  She was lucky.  The room in which they were sparring was shielded for privacy, at least from the others in the large room.  But those shields did not prevent him from listening. He brought the feed closer to them.

“It’s because you are expendable to Kirk, Sulu,” she continued to drive him and her point home.  “Do you know why?  Because you aren’t useful to him.  It has nothing to do with where your loyalty lies, with Kirk, or Pike, or the Empress, even the Empire in general.  What matters is how useful you are to the captain on the ship you serve.”

Sulu managed a lucky strike that knocked one of her daggers from her hands, sending it sailing into the privacy shield, which sizzled as the dagger hit it before landing solidly on the floor.  “You’re only loyal to Kirk because he helped you after you got raped.”

Giotto was impressed that she did not even flinch at the baited stab.  She laughed instead.  “While I am grateful for Kirk’s help, it doesn’t change the fact that I continue to be useful and therefore irreplaceable to my captain.  Pike wanted me on the ship for the same reason that Kirk is keeping me here.”  She taunted Sulu with repeated feints, which clearly unsettled him, breaking his combat focus.  Clearly, what she was saying to him was distracting him.  “If you aren’t valuable to your captain, you’re as good as dead.  So, you have a decision to make, don’t you?  To whom will you pretend to have loyalty?”

The glare Sulu gave her was murderous.  “I won’t pretend.”

His glare was ineffective on her.  “You’ve always been loyal to Pike,” she observed.  “Which means Gary.”  She shook her head.  “That’s too bad.”  With a viciousness she had been masking their entire sparring session, Uhura attacked, wielding her remaining dagger with brilliant precision, swinging her leg to knock Sulu from his.  Reversing direction, she swiped his fallen sword from the ground and resumed attack.  But he had been prepared. 

Sulu tackled her to the ground, sending her to her back, and bending her sword arm to hold her own blade at her throat.  “If you put me at risk, you die.”

“Oh, Sulu,” she cooed at him from her trapped position.  “You already are at risk.”

Giotto noticed at the same time as Sulu that her remaining dagger’s tip was poised directly to pierce the man’s groin.  Sulu swallowed loudly before he slowly raised his lower body away from not only her own, but her threatening blade.  “See?” she smiled sweetly.  “If it matters enough to you, you’ll do something about it.  Just like every man.”  Sulu wrestled the sword from her grip.  She allowed the transfer.  When he gave her enough room to maneuver, she struck once more, kicking him square in the chest, sending him backward to the ground.  But not before she hooked her dagger’s point in the hand guard, expertly missing his skin, and yanking the weapon from his grip. 

She stood over him, dagger held at her side, as she used the tip of the sword to move Sulu’s hair out of his eyes.  “Consider this warning: If you dare tell Mitchell that I’m against him, prepare for death.  Because if I don’t kill you myself, there are at least three others who will.” 

Giotto watched with a grin as Uhura stood straight, turned sharply and strode confidently toward the edge of the privacy shield, tossing the sword to the floor carelessly as she went.  “Computer, lower combat dome shield.”  At her command, the glimmering transparency disappeared.

Giotto watched Uhura leave the gymnasium without a glance back to the downed Sulu.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

She had no idea what she should do with what remained of her mate’s thoughtfully laid out meal.  Should she discard everything she did not consume?  Leave it for her mate so that she could learn what to do with them in the future?  She knew what she had done her whole life, which was quite simple and practical.  Dispose of the unused foodstuffs, and clean the dishes.  Sometimes the leftover food would be taken to the receptacle that would compact and break it down, thus providing nutrient-rich soil for their garden in the upcoming year. 

But T’Kyi’i did not know if this ship contained a garden.  Based on the behavior of the crewmembers she had seen, she thought it unlikely that any of them would have the patience for a task such as gardening. 

When she had no example to model her behavior from, she had to use what she knew.  She gathered what food she did not consume onto one of the plates, taking care to stack the remaining dishes and utensils.  With a quick examination of the room, she located what could only be the disposal.  She brought the food to it and managed to open the compartment enough to tip the plate and the food to fall away from it.  She felt the heat from the compartment when it was opened.  It must lead to an incinerator. 

She felt her eyes water as the heat made her long for a home to which she could never return. 

Moving quickly in order to keep her tears at bay, T’Kyi’i gathered the dishes and utensils and carried them into the fresher unit.  She placed them on the counter-space next to the sink, and began the process of cleaning the dishes as best as she could with what she had to work with.  As she scrubbed the dishes in the warm water, she thought of what she could do to occupy her time as she awaited her mate’s return.  There were very few possessions in these rooms.  It would not take her long to examine them all.  Perhaps she could access the ship’s computer system for information on Russia.  She remembered her mate’s happiness when she had asked about his home earlier. 

T’Kyi’i tried to calm herself as she finished her work on the dishes.  Her situation was not so terribly grim.  She had to remind herself of this.  She could always have been in her cousin’s position.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Spockh closed the book Doctor McCoy had given him.  It contained many fascinating and potentially helpful lessons.  He did not know how much time had passed since the doctor had been there, or how long it had taken him to read the book.  His fingers lingered on the printed letters of the title.  Its contents had given him plenty of ideas to contemplate in his solitude.  He suspected that he would not want for time to himself aboard this vessel, unless the captain decided that he wanted to drag him through the corridors to further humiliate him, to display his Vulcan prize to his crew. The man had a ship to run and maintain.  Spockh realized that he was simply a diversion, an afterthought.

He looked at his bandaged wrists.  Did the captain release him temporarily or would his bindings remain off forever?  Spockh did not know, and he did not dare to hope.

These thoughts were unproductive.  He rose slowly and brought the book with him, seeking the place from which Doctor McCoy had pulled it.  It was not from the captain’s desk, which was surprisingly tidy for such a volatile man.  There was a terminal and a small collection of data padds on its surface.  Other than that, there was nothing.  He continued on, exploring the captain’s quarters all over again, not looking for a weapon or an escape as he had the previous time, but in curiosity.  He had discovered the humble book collection the first time he looked through these quarters, but that time he had sought it as a blunt force object with which to incapacitate or even kill the captain.  He thought of McCoy’s advice, and resolved that he would obey it – he would not attempt to kill the man.  He noticed the space on the shelf left by the book he held in his hands.  The captain seemed to prefer alphabetizing his collection by title.  Logical. Spockh felt his eyebrow flick upwards unconsciously.  With deliberate and delicate care, he slid it back into its place, aligning the spine of the slim book with the others. 

His gaze wandered to the bed for a moment before he looked away, turning to go to where his empty cup rested on the table.  He was thirsty.  Perhaps he could figure out the Terran replicators.  With his cup in hand, Spockh carefully examined the dials.  He had no idea how to command it to produce a simple glass of water.  He hit a random sequence of buttons, before a harsh male voice spoke from the device.

“Voice activation required.”  Even before he spoke his name, Spockh knew what the result would be.  “Spock not recognized.  Request denied.”  Immediately, the replicator glowed red, as though warning Spockh not to attempt its use again.  Uncertain as to what the result would be should he do so, he abandoned it.  Only when he was at the door to the fresher did he turn back to it.  The red glow was fading to its normal shade.  Perhaps it had detected his retreat.

If he could not make use of the replicator then he would certainly be able to make use of the sink in the fresher.  The door slid aside for him.  It was remarkably simple to obtain water from the faucet.  It seemed he would have to rely on his captor for his solid meals, but at least he was able to get himself water. 

He brought it back to the living area of the captain’s quarters and lowered himself into the desk chair.  It was not as comfortable a chair as those at the table, but he had grown weary of that location.  Sipping his water, Spockh thought on his situation. 

Why had the captain chosen him, specifically?  It was a question he had been contemplating since the first time he had awoken in the bed, bound, and groggy, with the human above him, enduring his attentions until he was able to squeeze that particular area of his neck to render him unconscious.  The man had obviously read his entire book collection more than once if the wear of the tomes was any evidence.  Perhaps some of the passages in _The Prince_ influenced the captain’s decision in taking him.  But Kirk was not following them precisely if that is the case.  In the small book, Spockh recalled a section detailing the necessary steps in holding a conquered territory and people: eliminate the ruling family.  But McCoy would surely have told Kirk about Spockh’s noble standing among the remaining Vulcan people, would he not?  If he had, Spockh knew that he should have been killed by now.  That he was still alive indicated that McCoy was withholding this knowledge from Kirk.  The question remained for what purpose?

Suddenly, a possibility emerged to Spockh.  Perhaps the captain was attempting to convert the Vulcans from enemies and slaves into allies.  Perhaps Kirk was seeking an alliance with the Vulcan people by taking Spockh as his own.  Was this the reason he still lived?  It seemed unlikely to Spockh, but he could not ignore the possibility.  If Kirk could successfully persuade him into compliance and obedience, then perhaps his people would follow the example demonstrated by Spockh, Sarek, and T’Kyi’i.  Spockh did not believe this were true.  Kirk had not demanded that they bond, therefore he could not be seeking alliance.  He clearly sought Spockh’s submission not his cooperation.  He sought obedience, but not the kind that a bondmate would demonstrate to his match.  He desired the obedience of a slave and captive. 

Yet this morning, Kirk had been gentler to him.  Perhaps he desired a bonding after all, but did not wish to do so immediately like his young cousin and the very young human male.  Perhaps Kirk wanted to be sure they were compatible.  No, Spockh admonished himself.  He was trying to lure him into a sense of comfort.  He would not be taken for a fool.  He was not foolish.  Spockh may not be a warrior, but he knew he had to fight against Kirk, despite McCoy’s warning.  He would obey the doctor – he would not betray him, he would not try to kill him.  But he would fight him.  He did not know how to fight with weapons as well as some of his brethren, but he would not continue to lie back complaisantly as his body was violated nightly by this man.  He would not.  There was no benefit to allowing the captain to rut on him without any incentive, any assurance of security.

Except that his father would be safe.  Spockh thought of Doctor McCoy.  He had limited interaction with the man, but from those interactions he could conclude that the man was nearly the precise opposite of the captain.  He was gentle and did not use excessive violence.  He did not believe that his father was in danger of the doctor’s lethality.  Therefore, Kirk’s threat that his father would be harmed was no longer applicable.  Should he rebel against Kirk, the only one to suffer would be himself.  Not his father.  With this conclusion, Spockh’s resolve hardened.

He sipped his water as he looked at the computer terminal, curious if he would encounter the same difficulty in accessing it as he had with the food dispenser.  He looked then to the door that led to the corridor of the ship.  If he could not leave these rooms in order to seek help, perhaps he could contact it from here.  Captain Kirk may not fully grasp the value of alliances, but Spockh was quite aware of the advantages they held.  An alliance would accomplish protection for him twofold.  It would ensure his own life from any action of a member of this Terran Empire, but if he could negotiate the terms adequately, it would also give protection and security to Kirk’s life as well.  He did not know how he knew it, but Spockh realized that his life was now forever entwined with this human’s.  As his mother had once described to him of her own bonding to his father, he decided to follow her narrative advice and make the best of it he possibly could.  If he was to eventually find himself bonded to Kirk, Spockh would do what he could to lessen their dangerous and precarious situation aboard this ship.  And that required alliances.

He knew there was no way he could communicate with any of the Vulcans in the Medical Bay without it being intercepted by McCoy or one of his staff.  That left only one option – seeking assistance from outside of this ship.  There was only one to whom he could go, and he knew the risk involved in asking for help from that individual.  He would either be condemned for his approach should his request be met with refusal.  He would lose his father, most likely, and most definitely lose what little support he had ever been given from his people. 

But if he succeeded, he would be praised by both family and all of the Vulcans that had abandoned him since his birth, that had made no attempt to hide their disdain for his existence.  The whispers about his father would stop.  The whispers about him would change into something of respect. 

He would either fail or succeed completely.  There was no middle ground.

_Indeed, every other consideration having been put aside, that course of action alone which will save the life and liberty of the country ought to be wholeheartedly pursued…for, win or lose, they say, it is always a kingly action._  

Spockh activated the computer terminal, setting his cup of water aside, and began to use the computer skills his father had taught him since his childhood into circumventing security measures, protections, and most importantly, the bridge of the vessel.  He began to work on saving his people, and guaranteeing all of their lives.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“It’s ready for testing,” she announced quietly to their small group in the medical lab, holding up a hypospray already loaded with one dose. 

M’Benga approached her like she was a rabid animal, looking at the compound with an expression somewhere between angry and reluctantly impressed.  Marlena knew that he was annoyed that her chemistry skills far exceeded his own.  Well, he would have to get over being bested by a woman.  Sometimes it happened.  Without looking at her, M’Benga turned to Chapel.  “Test it discreetly,” he ordered.  He snatched the hypo from Marlena, and gave it to Chapel.  “I don’t care who.”

“On you?” she responded playfully. 

Marlena held in a giggle when Chapel’s teasing tone earned her a fierce glare from her lover.  She decided to step in.  “What about a Vulcan?”

“Not an adult,” M’Benga amended.  “They’ll ask too many questions about it.”

“A child?” Chapel asked, her expression turning slightly sympathetic.

“That is the opposite of an adult, my dear,” M’Benga said, softening his tone.

In Moreau’s opinion, ever since Chapel aligned herself with M’Benga she had become soft. The Christine Chapel that she had gone to classes with in the Academy would never have hesitated at injecting a child with a disease for a field test.  For some reason, this one did.  She held out her hand to the blonde.  “I’ll do it if you can’t handle it.”

Chapel held the hypospray close to her, like she was protecting something precious.  “I can do it, Moreau.”

“It’ll progress quickly in a child.  Then, we’ll be able to know how long it will take on…our intended target.”  He lowered his voice toward the end to avoid being overheard by eager eavesdroppers, or security.  Chapel turned slowly to the doorway, but did not move.  M’Benga gave her a swat just barely above the hem of her skirt.  “Go!”  Chapel left. 

Marlena, alone with M’Benga, remained unintimidated by him.  She met his gaze squarely.  “And this is the time to distract McCoy by telling him we’re ready to test the aerosol compound of the Vulcan inhibitor.”  She noticed him shift.  “It’s ready, right?”

“Of course, it’s ready,” he snapped. 

She spun sharply to go and tell McCoy, and to keep his attention until Chapel returned from injecting a random Vulcan child.  But her progress was halted when M’Benga grabbed her upper arm and spun her back to face him.  “I assume I owe you something now, right?”

“No,” she replied, jerking her arm, trying to escape him.

“Then, why did you help further my cause?”

She wondered about the wisdom in telling him.  Would he say anything?  He would most definitely judge her.  She shook her head to herself.  All men aboard this ship judged the women – no matter what their actions, standing, rank, or affiliation.  What’s one more judge?  “Kirk disgraced me, then discards me, and expects me to just accept it?”  The moment M’Benga’s grip loosened a fraction, she freed herself from it completely.  “I can’t let that go.  He took away my safety and security on this ship when he cast me out.  So, I will take away his safety net, those closest to him.  And that starts with McCoy.”  She smiled wickedly at him.  “See? We both want the same thing.”

“I don’t want Kirk’s downfall.”

“But if you get rid of McCoy, he’ll make your life hell for it.  Best get rid of them both.”

Chapel returned at that moment, the hypospray empty.  “Vulcan girl,” she reported, gesturing to her mid-thigh height.  “This high.  Blue eyes.  Only problem is that she’s got black hair and wearing black and grey like almost every other kid.”

“Good enough,” M’Benga said.  “We’ll have to keep an eye on her.”

But by that time, Marlena had stopped listening.  She thought about Kirk.  They had a comfortable arrangement only last week.  Then, and without warning, she was scorned, and shoved out of his quarters, without any protection from the other crewmembers.  And now, she was Gary Mitchell’s woman.  And she hated it.  Kirk had been kind, almost gentle to her – like a lover – except on very rare occasions.  She didn’t understand.  What had she done to make him hate her?  She both did and did not want to know the answer.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

There wasn’t all that much to do to keep himself busy in one of these cells, so Montgomery Scott didn’t have too many complaints about this older Vulcan’s company.  He was not the same type of prisoner as someone like Doctor van Gelder.  The Empire’s goal with the older man was to extract the information he kept secret with such skill.  With him, however, it was the opposite.  The Empire knew exactly what information Scott had in his head, and while they wanted to pull it from van Gelder, they wanted to keep it contained within Montgomery Scott.

He had been denied company, social times, even eating with others for the six months that he had been imprisoned at Tantalus.  The only person with whom he could communicate was van Gelder, and that was because their cells were right next to each other.  But there was only so much he could stand to listen to from that man.  He kept rambling on and on about how he had developed the perfect weapon, but the arrival of some alien vessel that forced the crew’s evacuation ended his work on it.  Especially when the Empress heard of it. 

He forgot how it felt to be the one talking rather than the one listening.  It felt good, important.  And he hadn’t even realized that he’d been talking to this Vulcan for so long until their dinner was delivered.  He hadn’t shut up for at least two hours.

“So, even though he wasn’t an engineer, it was great that Kirk knew what I was kinda talkin’ about,” he finished.  He thought of his Academy friend, the only man who tried to help him organize his defense about how knowledge of transwarp beaming was, in fact, not a threat to the security of the Empire.  That is, until Pike had practically ordered Kirk to stay away from Scott or risk inviting whatever came to the Scotsman onto himself.  He was both grateful and saddened that Kirk had then kept away.  Grateful because it would have been a waste for someone like Kirk to be caged up in a Tantalus cell like him.  Saddened because the company would have been unbeatable – that is, if they were even placed in the same cell.  Adams would have probably separated them, probably under the suspicion that they would figure out how to deactivate the force fields.  No, wherever he was now, Kirk served a better purpose than stagnating in a cell like him.  “Good man, Kirk.” 

“He is, indeed,” his cellmate agreed.  Apparently, Adams either didn’t care or disregarded the fact that Vulcans did not eat meat.  The Vulcan, Scott swore his name was Spock or something, meticulously separated the meat from the rest of his food.  After five or six pieces were set aside, he used the spoon to transfer it onto Scott’s plate.  He was more than pleased with this situation, and without the Vulcan asking, he traded some of the vegetables for what Spock offered. 

“You know Kirk?”

“I knew him, yes.”

Knew, Spock said.  Past tense.  Scott felt the icy grip of dread.  “Oh God, is he dead?”

The Vulcan’s eyebrows climbed on his forehead.  The dark, penetrative eyes narrowed at him.  “It is time that I share with you some of my history,” he evaded. 

“Hang on,” Scott interrupted, leaning forward from his seated position on the cot.  “Answer the question.  Is Kirk dead?  He’s my friend.  I’m entitled to know somethin’ like that.”

The elderly Vulcan’s already thin lips drew tighter together, making Scott truly take notice of the age lines around his mouth.  This Vulcan was very old, older than what he had heard Vulcans reach.  Even their greatest warriors did not reach the advanced age that this male clearly had.  If he were as old as he seemed, how could he possibly know James Tiberius Kirk?  Before he could ask such a question, Spock spoke.

“The James T. Kirk of whom I speak now was taken from me many years ago.  But, if my interference has not disrupted events to such a degree as—”  Spock broke off with an aborted gasp, as though the possibility of what he could not actually say physically choked him.  “I must hope that the James T. Kirk of your acquaintance does yet live.” 

What a strange thing to say.  He stared at the Vulcan for a long moment, trying to understand.  He supposed that being six months without someone to truly have a conversation with made his mind a little slow.  Hopefully, he had some time to catch up with this Vulcan.  “I don’t understand.”  Scott plucked a chunk of chicken from his dinner and popped it in his mouth, silently telling the Vulcan to continue. 

The Vulcan inhaled deeply through his nose.  “In my youth, I was taken from my family by the Empire.  I was the subject of many experiments – mental, telepathic, physical.  During one of these brutal processes, my unique intellect was deemed something of value by the Empress.”  Scott tried to comprehend what Spock was saying.  As far as he knew, the Empire did not experiment on Vulcans, other than the preserved corpses of the First Captives.  But live specimens?  He had no idea this was going on. 

“I was permitted recovery only after I had sworn allegiance and loyalty to the Empire and its goals and ideals.  I had no desire to die whilst enduring scientific tortures the likes of which you cannot possibly imagine.  I did not hesitate to agree to these demands.”  Spock took a moment to chew one of the vegetable cubes.  The divulging of his personal history seemed exhausting to the Vulcan.

“After I had recovered, I was tagged with a sub-dermal device of obedience.  Should I attempt to use my telepathic skill for anything other than the Empire’s purposes, it would proceed to...”  Spock shuddered, flicking his gaze briefly at his hand.  “…stimulate the electrical conductivity in my blood.”

“Electrocute you?”  Scott nodded.  “We have somethin’ that does that.  An agonizer.”

“I am familiar with an agonizer, and I assure you that an agonizer does not contain one tenth of my device’s power.”  He paused briefly, tilting his head questioningly.  “Does the Empire make use of agony booths?”

“Aye,” he answered, quickly.  “Nasty lil’ places.” 

“Agreed,” said Spock.  “Imagine an agony booth set at maximum power.”  Scott nodded.  He knew what that felt like, and he had no intention of ever experiencing it again.  Spock pierced him with his gaze.  “And now imagine enduring four times that pain.”  Scott could not help the grimace.  Spock nodded.  “Now you can understand why it was so effective in keeping me controlled.”  Scott looked upon this Vulcan with rising admiration. 

“I was placed aboard the I.S.S. Enterprise under the command of Captain Christopher Pike.  He was not…merciful.  He was quite barbaric, ruthless.”  The description seemed to fit Pike close enough, though Scott didn’t exactly know the man very well.  Other than Kirk, though, he did not hear many speak highly of him.  “But under his command, I learned quickly to adapt, and to inspire fear among the crew.  After my first assassination, I was awarded the rank of lieutenant.  After I foiled an attempt on Captain Pike’s life, I was made lieutenant commander, and permitted a Vulcan bodyguard.  He was a cousin of mine, but not one I was inclined to trust.  I did not learn trust until I received orders from the captain to murder his first officer.”  Scott knew what Spock was going to say before the Vulcan finished.  “I was to murder Commander James Tiberius Kirk.”

Even though he knew the name was coming, Scott still found it unexpected.  And confusing.  He studied Spock, this old Vulcan, whose eyes were now closed as though he were reliving something terrible.  “I could not do it.  I had waited for him in his quarters, the access codes provided for me by Captain Pike.  When he arrived, I attacked him.  He was surprisingly agile and defended himself admirably.”  The Vulcan shook his head slowly, his eyes still closed.  “I exposed his neck to my blade by pulling his hair back.  My blade was at his throat, I smelled the blood I had drawn during our combat.  I felt his terror.  I would have done it, had he not resisted and grabbed my hand that held the knife at his skin.  I could not do it.”  Spock’s severe face crumbled for only a moment before he commanded it back into its stern non-expression.  Scott was amazed at the transformation. 

“That very night, I reported directly to Captain Pike that I had fulfilled my assignment and killed James Kirk.”

He could not stay silent.  “I thought Vulcans couldn’t lie.”

One eyebrow rose along with one corner of Spock’s mouth.  “One of Vulcan’s greatest examples of dishonesty.” Spock ate several more bites of food, Scott taking his example, finding himself in the role of the listener again.  However, for this Vulcan he knew he would gladly play the part. 

“While Captain Pike celebrated the death of his first officer with his woman, that very same officer entered the captain’s quarters and slaughtered them both.  He immediately then proclaimed himself Captain of the Enterprise, and announced me as Commander and his first officer.”

Okay, there were several things wrong with this Vulcan’s story now.  “Wait, now,” Scott had to interrupt again.  “I happen to know that Captain Pike is alive an’ well right now.  Why do I know that?  Because the bastard next to us hasn’t shut up about getting’ Pike back for shovin’ him in here in the first place!  And I think that if Kirk ever were captain of a ship, nevermind the Enterprise, I would’ve heard about it.”  He leaned further toward this old, unthreatening-looking Vulcan.  “So the question is, what are you playin’ at, Vulcan?”

They stared at each other for a very long time, neither moving, neither speaking.  Scott swore that neither of them breathed.  Finally, the Vulcan lowered his eyes.  “I am not from this time,” the Vulcan confessed. 

“What, you mean you jumped dimensions or somethin’?”

“No,” he said, his voice conveying a patience that was not evident in his eyes.  “Much simpler.  I am from a future…No.  You are residing in my past, but in circumstances that are no longer my past due to my arrival here and now.”  He closed his eyes and sighed in a very human display of frustration.  He tried to make it clear again.  “I am, for lack of a better term, from a different time.  More precisely, one-hundred twenty-nine years from now.”

Scott choked on his food in complete shock.  After he managed to force it down his throat, he tried to speak.  His voice became raspy from his choking.  “The future?  You’re from the future?”

Spock shook his head.  “I am from _a_ future.  A future of this past that will never be, but that we must attempt to steer the present toward.”

“Your presence here caused a shift to your past, didn’t it?”  He barely waited for the confirming nod.  “And whatever happened because of you bein’ here, you want to fix so that the future you know still comes true?”

“I know it will not be precisely the same, but if it is helped to become even similar to what I have seen—”

Scott waved his hands to shut him up.  “You’re talkin’ about manipulatin’ events in time!  Do you know how impossible that is?  It’s like—”

“It is possible, Scotsman.” 

Scott glared at the corner of his cell for only a second before he stormed over to it, close enough to the force field so that he could feel it almost burn him. 

“Eavesdroppin’ again, van Gelder?”

“It is possible to readjust destinies to fit the circumstances of when your cellmate comes from, at least life and death permitting.”

Scott threw his arms into the air, despite knowing that van Gelder could not see his reaction.  “And how do we do that, then?  In case you haven’t noticed, we’re locked in Tantalus cells!”

The answer van Gelder gave was very simple.  “We escape.”  Scott turned to look at the Vulcan, who was gazing in his direction, eyeing him with focused interest.  “And now that we have a Vulcan among us, our odds of success have just tripled.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

 

He rose from the chair as the doors leading to the corridor hissed open to admit his new bondmate.  The greeting he had prepared stuck in his throat when he saw what Leonard McCoy held.  In addition to his small medical kit his mate held a small bundle of very recognizable clothing.  Sarek’s mouth fell open in blatant emotion as he raised his hand toward the human.  The man met his eyes, took him in, and almost immediately understood the question that Sarek most wanted answered. As he offered the clothing to him, he spoke gently.  “He’s alright.  Better than I expected.”

Sarek gathered his son’s clothing to his chest in a way that said he would much rather be holding Spockh to him.  He had not seen his son since he was taken from the examination room in McCoy’s sickbay.  Since Spockh had gone to repeat his mother’s history.  Sarek fell back into the chair from which he had stood, clutching the fabric tightly.  “Is he—”

McCoy came to his desk and pushed aside the activated padd that Sarek had just been using to learn what he could about his newly acquired culture – that of the Terran Empire.  The human more leaned on the desk than sat on it.  His feet remained on the ground.  “He’ll recover fine.  He needs a few days to get fully back to normal, but he’s fine.”

Sarek rubbed the soft fabric of Spockh’s tunic between his thumb and forefinger.  “Fine is an imprecise term, Doctor.  It is a word of variable meaning, and its definition dependent on the perspective of the speaker.” 

His rebuke did not seem to ruffle his mate.  “Then ask a more precise question.”

“How badly did that man hurt my son?”

McCoy did not reply immediately.  “He didn’t abuse him.  He only bled where he was...” 

Sarek filled in what McCoy seemed to have difficulty saying.  “Violated.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.  I’ve seen violent, really violent, and that wasn’t it.” 

Sarek could not stop himself from looking at the man in complete disbelief and challenge.  “May I remind you that you described rape as an act wherein one person forces another, unwilling person into sexual intercourse?  How else would you describe what happened to my son?”

“And you said that you couldn’t control yourself with your wife, but that you didn’t rape her, and that it was your pon farr!”

Sarek stood quickly, approaching the man with a stride that matched his outrage.  “Your captain does not endure pon farr.  He took my son by force.  By your own definition, Kirk is a rapist.”

Both his raised voice and his stance had an effect on McCoy, who immediately began to backtrack both physically and verbally.  “I’m not saying Kirk made love to your son by any means, but he didn’t beat him, he didn’t cut him open, and he didn’t fuck him with any foreign objects other than his own dick.”  He sighed before his voice returned to a softer tone.  “Yes, he was rough.  The kid had enough bruises on his body to prove that.  But he wasn’t abused.  He was bleeding only because of two things.  One, it was his first time.  Everyone bleeds their first time.  And two, because his first time was a little less gentle than it probably should have been for him.”

Sarek did not know what to say or do.  He wanted to see his son.  He wanted to speak with him.  But he knew that unless he was given permission by his son’s captor, Spockh would be kept from him.  He turned away from the man, as he brought his son’s abandoned clothes to his face.  He inhaled Spockh’s distinct scent, and then imagined the condition in which McCoy had most likely found Spockh.  His child could never reclaim what he had been forced to lose.  And Sarek mourned for him.  “He is so young.”

McCoy’s response surprised him.  “How young?”

Sarek looked up at him.  “In the Terran equivalent, he is only twenty-five.” 

“So?  Kirk’s the same age.”

He turned to face McCoy and tried to offer a sardonic smile, but Sarek knew that he did not succeed.  “Your captain would have been executed for underage sexual assault had this occurred within the jurisdiction of Vulcan Law.”

The unimpressed expression disappeared from McCoy’s face.  “The kid’s still a child to you people?”

Sarek nodded.  “Vulcans are considered children until they experience their first pon farr.”  He saw McCoy shudder.  They had discussed it briefly shortly after they had bonded.  Sarek was grateful that his mother had been present to assist him in calming down the nearly hysterical human.  He had been much more relaxed when they had agreed that they would not touch each other in a sexual manner until Sarek’s pon farr occurred – which was not due to arrive until another four point seven six years.  “This usually occurs between the ages of twenty-seven and thirty-four, though the latter is more unusual.” 

Sarek studied his new mate for a moment, trying to search for disgust.  Instead, what he saw was medical interest.  At least this man was making an effort in understanding those now captive aboard this ship.  He was certainly one of the few.  Despite his initial reluctance in telling McCoy about his son, he had no reason – especially medically – to withhold it any longer.  “However, as we discussed earlier, my son may never experience it, due to his mixed heritage.  The parameters I have already disclosed pertain to full Vulcans.  As my son is half-human, these do not necessarily apply, even with the majority of his genetic makeup being Vulcan.” 

“So, with him anything can happen?”

Sarek nodded again.  “And I fear for what that may mean for Spockh.”

“Well,” McCoy said, sounding far calmer and more resolute than he had during their entire conversation to that point.  “I’ll be there to put him back together, whatever that might mean.”  The comment surprised Sarek so much that he obviously did not hide that surprise from McCoy, who smiled at him softly.  “I mean, that kid’s my stepson now.  I’m obligated to care for him, both as a doctor and his family.” 

When Sarek was uncomfortable, uncertain of the appropriate reply, or near emotionally demonstrative he had one reaction.  Avoidance.  He looked down at his son’s clothing, some of it obviously having been sliced.  “Is there a way to keep these garments safe?  They are now rare, and…”

McCoy nodded, reaching for them.  Sarek was relieved that his mate understood what he was trying – and failing – to say aloud.  Sarek hesitated a moment before surrendering them to the human.  McCoy went around the desk to a panel in the wall.  After several beeps it opened.  Sarek knew it to be a sort of safe.  McCoy draped the clothes over his arm before he folded all of them one piece at a time.  He placed them all into the safe, but he did not close it.  He turned to Sarek.  “Do you want yours in here, too?”

Sarek looked at his own clothing.  With McCoy’s assistance and permission, they had both managed to convince the guard that Kirk had placed as the doctor’s shadow to phaser his wrists and ankles apart.  He still wore the separated shackles, but he was much less restrained than when he had been brought aboard.  He did not trust his voice, and so he nodded sharply at the man. 

Leaving his safe open, McCoy went to the comm unit mounted on his wall.  “Doctor McCoy to Yeoman Barrows.” 

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Bring me a new uniform, one size up from my usual.  I don’t need the blues though.  Just the blacks.”

“A size up?”

Sarek watched McCoy roll his eyes.  “Yeah, a size up!  Don’t ask why I want it.  That’s not your concern.  Just bring it to me.”  He seemed about to end the conversation, but then changed his mind, turning his head back to the comm’s voice pickup.  “Actually, bring a week’s worth of them.”

“Seven black uniforms, one size up.  Aye, sir.” 

“And not tomorrow, not in an hour.  Now.”

The female’s reply was delayed for a moment.  “Aye, Doctor.”

Sarek approached McCoy, frankly wondering at his kindness.  “Why?”

McCoy looked at him with a strange expression.  Sarek could not place it, even having experience with Amanda.  She had not displayed this expression exactly.  The closest approximation Sarek could give was pained.  “I’ll take care of your kid.  What kind of husband am I if I can’t take care of you, too?  I’m not thrilled, and I know you aren’t either with all of this, but—”

“I appreciate your accommodations, in whatever capacity you are able to bring yourself to provide.”  He saw that his attempt at reassurance reached the human.  “You have done more than enough, Leonard, especially for my son.  I thank thee.”

“You both have thanked me a lot.”

Sarek nodded.  “That is likely because, even with our limited interaction with members of this vessel, it is plain to see that you are a rarity in this Empire you serve.  That we have encountered you is fortunate.”

McCoy did not reply.  Instead, he went to his desk and lowered himself into the chair.  He did not look at him.  Sarek, however, knew that he needed to leave the man to his own thoughts.  He retreated into the fresher unit, where he stripped and carefully folded the clothing of Vulcan, and turned to the stall behind him. 

At first, the waterflow alarmed him.  He had never experienced bathing in this manner.  Water was not as abundant as it is among Terrans, and so was never a thing to be wasted on bathing.  It was a strange sensation, yet unexpectedly soothing.  Amanda had occasionally mentioned how she had missed the luxury of water showers, of looking up to the sky during a rainfall so that the water could run along her face.  He had not understood her.  She was an overly emotional human woman.  Bathing served one purpose, to cleanse one’s body of residue acquired through the activities of the day.  Water served the purpose of hydrating one’s body.  Using water to bathe was extravagant and wasteful.  It was not necessary.  Yet, something deep inside of him decided that perhaps Amanda had not been so overly emotional about it as he had thought.  Perhaps, she had simply mourned her loss of water, or rain.  Sarek faced the source of the water, stepped forward, closed his eyes, and angled his face into the drops.  He thought of Amanda, and finally allowed himself to mourn for what he had lost. 

When he emerged from the stall, he immediately noticed that his clothing had disappeared and a folded pile of all black clothing had replaced them.  It seemed McCoy had made an exchange as he had been absorbed in his thoughts while bathing.  He dressed quickly, noting the difference in the fabric he had worn his entire life as opposed to this.  He looked at himself in the small mirror, and breathed.  He would adapt to this. 

He reentered the main living space and found McCoy standing by the open safe.  Silently, he gestured towards the inside.  Sarek followed the unspoken instruction and looked into the safe, noticing that his folded clothing was resting upon his son’s inside of it.  He met McCoy’s gaze, before the man nodded and secured the safe again. 

McCoy picked up one of the padds from his desk and relaxed against the wall.  “Let me ask you something, Sarek.”  The doctor did not wait for his reply.  “What should be done to get your people to best cooperate?”

The answer was very simple to Sarek.  “Vulcans thrive on activity – usually what keeps our minds active.  But, in these circumstances, I would wager that we would also welcome physical labor.”

“Okay.”  McCoy tapped the padd’s screen. “So, you’re saying…”  He trailed off.  Sarek realized that he was waiting for something specific, but he wasn’t sure exactly what his mate expected.  “That T’Ping woman made a census of all you people.  She made a point to list everybody’s profession right after their names.”

Suddenly, Sarek understood.  “She is correct.  You must find a way to convince your captain to make us useful to him.  Otherwise, we serve no purpose.”

McCoy nodded, and then tapped the screen once more.  He set it aside.  “I sent it to the captain.  It’s up to him now.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Just because he’d fucked her once – and in relative privacy – didn’t mean he would do it while he was on the bridge!  Everyone else he’d had didn’t flinch away from him like he was some kind of rabid animal. But Janice Rand seemed to think he would throw her down any time he looked at her.  Honestly, the one time he’d fucked her was more than enough.  She wasn’t that good anyway.

But she was a good yeoman.  She did everything he asked of her.  Probably because she thought that if she didn’t do exactly what he ordered when he ordered it, he would make her pay for her incompetence, inefficiency, slowness, or whatever other defect she thought she had by spreading her legs.  But that wasn’t true.  Again, once with her was enough for Kirk.

He took the padd from her.  She stood at attention, but just out of his arm’s reach.  She’d started doing that since the incident in the Cochrane Room.  She was stupid to think he couldn’t figure that out, except that Kirk knew she wasn’t stupid.  She could pretend like the best blonde, but he knew better.  Rand had a scheming mind as good as Christine Chapel.  The only difference between Rand and Chapel was that one of them wasn’t afraid to use what was between her legs to get what she wanted from a man.  That and Chapel was sometimes very persuasive.  Rand could plan out someone’s death in extreme detail, but lacked all guts and allies to carry those plans out. 

And everyone on the ship knew it.  Probably why she was always taken advantage of by every male aboard.  She was incapable of fighting back. 

Kirk let her stand there for another moment before he looked at her again.  God, he loved her little flinch that she tried so hard to hide whenever a man looked at her.  And he loved that he was why she reacted like that with every man.  He’d been the first to make her aware of a woman’s only purpose aboard a starship – to please the men on that starship. 

“The sheets in my quarters need to be changed.  See to that.”

Rand nodded, shakily.  “Yes, Sir.”

Kirk stabbed her with his eyes.  “Dismissed.”

She left the bridge as she had almost every time – practically fleeing. 

He turned his attention to his padd and skimmed through the extraneous bullshit from the Empire’s Mission Assignments.  They had one mission now.  Track down this Romulan ship, infiltrate it, and destroy it if possible.  Granted, Kirk also wanted to get his father back, but since he was floating off somewhere in a shuttle, that just might make tracking the Romulans and Pike a little more difficult.  But Kirk liked challenges, after all.

The notices from Terra he would read later.  It was the few from Bones that got his attention.  What the hell was this?  It was a large file about the Vulcans.  Who wrote this?  He doubted Bones had the time to do this.  He looked at the top and saw that T’Pring credited herself with composing this monstrous file.  Who authorized this?  He certainly didn’t.  He’d look at it later.  He didn’t have time to do it while he was on the bridge. 

He cued up the second one from his friend.  The subject made him eager to read it.  ‘Your Vulcan.’ Kirk frowned at the missive’s contents.  Apparently, he couldn’t fuck him again for a few days.  He had to heal.  Kirk sighed.  That was disappointing.  The first time was done and out of the way.  Once he broke the Vulcan in and he got used to having Kirk’s dick inside of him, he’d be able to have him daily.  Maybe even more than once.  Kirk could not wait to break him in so that they got to that point.  Maybe the Vulcan would even come to like it.  To beg him for it.  But it wouldn’t happen for a while yet it seemed. 

He swept his gaze along the bridge, noting who staffed which stations, and if any of them seemed to be acting suspiciously.  He was not about to die in the damn command chair.  His gaze landed on Gary Mitchell, who was intently studying his readouts at tactical.  In a way, Kirk missed that station.  But he would rather have this one.  As he was looking at Mitchell, his first officer’s eyes rose and glared back at him.  They stared fiercely at each other.  Kirk knew an unspoken threat when he saw it, but he was never one to back down from a confrontation first.  He never had been. 

“Giotto to Captain.” 

Without looking away from Mitchell, Kirk answered the comm.  “Kirk here.”

“Sir, I’m detecting an unauthorized outgoing transmission.”

“Palmer,” snapped Kirk, keeping the line to Giotto open.  “Confirm that.”

He heard her working at the station.  She was not as good as Uhura, but she was a close second.  Not like that moron who was at the station when they set out for their mission to Vulcan.  Thankfully, even Pike realized the man’s stupidity and put Uhura where she belonged, as Communications Chief, even though Kirk had been recommending her to Pike for the last three months.  “Confirmed, Captain.”

Still eyeing Mitchell, Kirk directed his voice to the pickup.  “Identify source.”

The slow-grin that spread across Mitchell’s face chilled Kirk.  “Your quarters, _Sir._ ”

The surprise was clear in Giotto’s voice.  “That’s right.  It’s coming from the Captain’s quarters.” 

Kirk had no idea how Mitchell knew that for certain, but he suspected it had something to do with his ESPer-rating.  He fleetingly thought again that giving Mitchell this position had been a mistake.  Because it meant something he did not want to do.  “Have Sulu meet me at my quarters immediately.”  He spoke through clenched teeth at Mitchell.  “You have the bridge.”

Kirk entered the turbolift fuming.  “Deck Five,” he snapped.  The lift did not move quickly enough.  He ran his fingers along the hilt of his dagger.  If that Vulcan betrayed him, he would learn firsthand what happened to everyone else that made that mistake. 

No matter how much Kirk wanted him.


	11. Internal Conflict

He’d barely noticed that Farrell had accompanied him into the turbolift.  He’d felt the vigilant presence at his side more than heard any movement from the other man.  Kirk deliberated who would dare send a message from his quarters away from his ship.  Rand?  He doubted it.  She couldn’t even have had enough time to report to the quartermaster, get new sheets, go to his quarters, change them, and somehow find the time to break into his terminal – a difficult task for even the security division on this ship – then establish contact and converse briefly before being discovered.  Kirk snorted to himself.  Rand didn’t even have that kind of knowledge, never mind the time for someone skilled in computers to get it done smoothly and efficiently. 

That left only his Vulcan captive. 

His lips turned downward at the thought.  He was proving to be more trouble than he might have been worth.  Now, he had a problem: the arrangement McCoy had made.  Kirk realized that no matter what this Vulcan did, he would be stuck with him.  He couldn’t discard him.  He couldn’t give him to the crew.  He couldn’t do anything with him.  Except keep him. 

But he could throw him around a little.  That didn’t seem to have any repercussions for McCoy so far.  He could hurt him, but only so much that he could be fixed by the doctor.  It would have to do. 

He just hoped the Vulcan would learn from that and didn’t require something a little more…permanent to get him to cooperate, or even better, to submit completely.

The doors opened and Kirk took off quickly, knowing that Farrell was close behind him.  When he reached his quarters, he saw Sulu heading their way.  They met each other at the door.  Sulu had a twisted, eager look on his face that unnerved Kirk.  He knew Sulu was very xenophobic, but usually he wasn’t so outwardly excited about punishing one of Kirk’s playthings like he was at that moment.  It didn’t matter right then, though.  What mattered was what was taking place inside his quarters. 

Kirk headed directly for his terminal as soon as the door parted open.  He saw his Vulcan seated there, in front of the screen.  His dark eyes darted to his as soon as he saw Kirk’s movement upon entering.  He barely had enough time to stand, and say something in – what Kirk assumed as – Vulcan at whoever he had contacted, before Kirk was on him.  He drew back his fist as he charged, and smiled at the sound of his clenched hand punching the Vulcan’s left cheekbone. 

He fell against the wall behind the desk, the shock clear on his face.  But Kirk did not let him recover.  He gripped that dark hair, the same hair he’d delighted in just last night as feeling luxurious between his fingers.  He didn’t note its silken texture as he wrenched the Vulcan’s head back hard.  The alien gasped and grabbed his wrist with one hand.  Kirk drove his other fist directly into his unprotected sternum, forcing him to fold into himself.  Kirk tugged on his hair to force him up again before delivering another blow to his midsection. 

“Capt—” he tried to speak, but his breath was short.

Kirk struck him across the mouth, wordlessly commanding him to silence.  His grip on the hair prevented his head from turning far.  The Vulcan reached for him, his free hand landing blindly on the knot of his command sash.  Kirk rammed his knee into his stomach, the impact sending the Vulcan down to his knees.  Almost too late, Kirk saw the glint of his blade in his captive’s grip.  The little bastard must have snatched it during his collapse. 

In an instant, Kirk latched onto the Vulcan’s wrist, aborting his clumsy stab.  With both of the Vulcan’s hands occupied, he wasted no time in repeatedly driving his knee into the vulnerable stomach until the alien was barely able to breathe.  The dagger fell from his weakened grip.  Only then, when the Vulcan could not maintain his hold on Kirk’s wrist where his hand still clenched that fine hair, and he was almost a pathetically gasping heap on the floor against the wall, did Kirk release him. 

He reclaimed his dagger and put it back where it belonged – at his waist. 

“The agony booth, Captain?”

Kirk turned to Sulu, stunned that he had almost forgotten the other man’s presence.  He saw that the other man was practically shaking in anticipation of his answer.  He nodded sharply, once.  Immediately, he pulled his Vulcan up by his clothing before throwing him down again at Sulu’s feet, hearing the moan, but dismissing it.  “Take him,” he ordered Sulu.  He looked down at the crumbled, trembling figure between them.  “Set it to half power, but full duration.”

Sulu’s expression was pure disgust.  “Half?”

Kirk didn’t hesitate with the answer.  “Do you know how much a Vulcan can take?  I want this one to stay alive.”  He nodded down to his captive.  “So, the first time, half power, full duration.  I’ll release him myself.” 

Sulu nodded.  “Aye, Sir,” he mumbled, clearly disappointed with Kirk’s decision.  He grabbed the Vulcan by one bicep and hauled him up. 

Kirk did not expect him to seek out his gaze.  “No, Captain,” he gasped.  “Please.”  He feebly fought against Sulu’s grip.  “You do not understand. Let me ex—”

Before he could do it himself, Sulu dealt the pleading Vulcan a vicious blow to his mouth, sending him sideways against Kirk’s desk.  “Still want half power?” he asked, a sadistic smile spreading on his lips. 

Kirk’s reply was simple. “Take him.” 

Sulu hauled the beaten male from his quarters, but unable to stop him from shouting desperately to Kirk as he was taken away.  Kirk barely heard the words, but he did hear them.  He looked to Farrell.  “Have Wolfe make sure he gets to the booth in one piece, and without any diversions.”  Farrell nodded and was gone a moment later to inform Wolfe of his command. 

Kirk closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose.  He clenched then relaxed his hands.  When he opened his eyes he was looking right at the terminal.  That was the important thing here, not the state of his Vulcan.  What was important was the identity of the person on the other end of that transmission.  He knew there was only one person up to this sort of work.  “Kirk to Uhura,” he growled into his communicator. 

She was not as prompt as usual, but he allowed the delay since she was not on duty at the moment.  “Uhura here.  What is it, _Captain_?”

He knew she was not going to be pleased, but circumstances could not allow for her pleasure.  “Relieve Palmer on the Bridge.  I need you to trace the call that came from my quarters and transmitted outside of my ship.”

“Understood.” 

Kirk breathed again through his nose.  “Inform me as soon as you trace it.  When you do, begin to re-establish contact.  I want to talk to them.”

“As you order,” she confirmed.  “Uhura, out.” 

Kirk disconnected and stowed his communicator.  He closed his eyes once more, pressed his hands on his desk, and leaned his weight forward onto them.  He stood there, simply breathing for a long moment.  Slowly, he opened his eyes…

…only to see a splash of green on the desk below him. 

He wasn’t aware that he had touched it with his fingers until his hand was in front of him, closely examining the liquid.  He’d seen it last night, too.  And just like it had last night, the sight of it disgusted him.  He brought his thumb against his two middle fingers and spread the green liquid across the pads of his fingers.  It was blood – his Vulcan’s blood.  It must have gotten there when Sulu struck him.  Kirk couldn’t understand why the thought of Sulu causing his Vulcan to bleed irritated him.  Sulu was his security chief.  He was going to make countless people bleed during his service.  But at that moment, Kirk was angry that Sulu had spilled his Vulcan’s blood. 

Wiping his fingers roughly on his black pants, Kirk strode from his quarters, eager to return to the bridge.  Uhura would be successful soon.  She was unmatched in communications and linguistics. 

Kirk had questions, and he knew that many of them would be answered once he spoke to the person his Vulcan contacted.  He would get the rest of his answers after retrieving him from the agony booth. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

After he’d witnessed what had happened after George Kirk’s death – what had become of his family and friends after his sacrifice – he was no longer sure whether or not he should act on his hunches.  But this Vulcan, this elderly Vulcan, was intriguing.  He knew more about his device than anyone ever should have known.  That Simon had never met this man before was something even more puzzling.  He claimed he was from another universe, from the future.  What else did he know?  He could prove to be a treasure trove of knowledge, of what fate everyone would suffer. 

Then, again, he had been surprised at a few things during their comparison of universes.  Maybe this Vulcan was not so trustworthy or reliable after all.  Maybe things had changed somehow because of his arrival from the future. 

There may only be one way to find out for certain.

“Escape is now more vital than ever, Vulcan, considering the knowledge you have of what is to come,” he tested. 

The response came from his right, where he knew the Vulcan had settled himself against their adjacent cell wall.  Simon van Gelder had done the same on his side.  It was how they were able to speak in hushed tones, their voices carrying just around the wall to each other.  But Simon found out that he could speak so quietly that a human would have difficulty in hearing him, but this Vulcan could easily detect and understand his words.  He would have liked to have his sense of hearing for this discussion.  The Vulcan had obliged and spoken just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of their cell force field.  It was still quiet for an average human.  “It is difficult to break a Vulcan, I assure you.”

His instinct told him to trust the Vulcan.  He’d introduced himself as Spock.  His instinct had once saved the life of Winona Kirk’s newborn son.  Perhaps he should trust this instinct again.  He closed his eyes, knowing there was no turning back after this conversation.  “If I give you this information about the device, my value here is gone.  And if they pull it from you, I will be useless to the Empire and put to death.  So will you.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from Spock’s throat.  “Your design may have differed from that of the device with which I am familiar.  If they deem you valueless, your knowledge dies with you.  And even if that knowledge of your design is taken from me, this Empire will have both versions, and they will not know which is false and which is correct.  Should they choose the elements that do not fit with each other, your device as it is will be useless to them.”

Simon shook his head to himself.  “Then, if they have both designs they can easily build two of them.”

“No,” Spock was quick to interrupt.  “You will only give me enough information to enable me to finish what you have started.  Nothing more.”

He heard the doors slide apart from the end of the hallway.  He knew what this meant.  Adams was coming.  He had moments to decide.  As the footsteps began down the corridor, he knew the decision was simple.  What he knew would be better protected inside this Vulcan’s mind than his own.  “Alright, Vulcan.  I agree.”

“Excellent,” Spock purred. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Kirk didn’t want to sit in the command chair at the moment.  Not now.  He was too restless to remain seated until Uhura succeeded.  To work off some of his tension, he prowled the bridge, standing beside crewmen, just watching them work.  He did not comment on their performance.  He wanted them to feel as tense as he was feeling.  He had been looking at the readouts of his old station – where Gary Mitchell now stood posted – with a pang of longing.  Tactical was easy compared to the tension and the burden of command.  So many were trying, or thinking, to kill their captain that it was impossible to trust anyone, especially those on the bridge. 

“Destination pinpointed, sir,” Uhura announced. 

Kirk stormed to her station, grabbing the back of her chair, and leaning forward so that their faces were close enough to each other enabling them to speak softly.  “Where?”

Her brows came together.  “Unknown ship.”

Without realizing that he mirrored her expression, he turned his face toward her ear and whispered harshly into it.  “Unknown, Lieutenant?” 

Uhura did not look at him or respond to the threat in his voice.  “Give me a minute.”  Kirk watched her slim fingers move over her console, making minute adjustments.  It was less than a minute later that she spoke again.  “Sir,” she whispered.  “It’s—”   He glared at her.  “The language from that ship isn’t…”  She adjusted her console again, listening just to be sure.  “It isn’t Vulcan,” she stated.  Kirk heard the certainty in her voice.  Then, she turned to face him directly.  Her voice rose enough to carry throughout the bridge.  “Sir, it’s a Romulan ship.”

Kirk felt the tension spike on the bridge.  He didn’t need to look at his crew members to know they had all turned to face Uhura’s station.  His lips parted to ask the question, but Uhura had anticipated it.  “I’m sure it’s Romulan.”

_‘Why would Spockh contact a Romulan?’_ Kirk wondered.  “Is it Nero?”

Uhura monitored the activity aboard the Romulan vessel before answering.  “No.  It’s not Nero.” 

Kirk was surprised when Mitchell confirmed Uhura’s statement.  “Readout indicates the ship she’s got isn’t a large as Nero’s.  But they could be working with him.”

“Just because they’re Romulan?” Kirk snapped at Mitchell.  “That’s like thinking all Humans have high ESPer ratings because you do.  It’s flawed.”  He turned back to Uhura.  “Hail them.”

“You’re open, Sir,” she said, a moment later. 

Kirk stepped close to his chair, knowing that if this mystery Romulan decided to opt for visual contact he would be best seen near his command chair.  “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the I.S.S. Enterprise.  Identify yourself.”

The reply came immediately.  The main viewscreen changed from the stars to an image of what Kirk knew to be a Romulan.  She looked nothing like Nero, though.  For instance, her features bore no tattoos.  She had plenty of hair as opposed to Nero’s shaved skull.  It was not long hair that trailed loosely down her long neck.  Instead, the cut was short and it spiked haphazardly, almost wildly.  Her features were sharp and angular, her full lips curving up on one side in a confident, condescending smirk.  And her eyes were narrowed as she looked him over.  She was very attractive, Kirk decided, in a femme fatale sort of way.

Then, she began to speak.

Kirk didn’t understand a word.  He didn’t know Romulan.  Almost no one on this entire ship knew Romulan.  But Uhura knew Romulan – all three dialects of it, which she’d earlier announced to Pike – and immediately began to translate out loud for him and everyone on the bridge.  “You established contact with me, Human.  That implies you are already aware of my identity.”

The Romulan was remarkably patient while Uhura translated.  Uhura was only a second or two behind the Romulan.  Despite the slight delay, the alien’s confidence did not seem to waver.

Kirk straightened as Uhura finished translating.  He was not about to look weak in front of a woman.  “You spoke to someone aboard my ship that had no authority to contact you.”  He hoped Uhura’s Standard to Romulan translation was just as quick. 

Her smile grew.  “He had the knowledge of how to contact me.”

Kirk glared at her.  “But not my permission.”

Her close-mouthed laugh insulted him as much as her words.  “Obviously, your permission is irrelevant, since he did it anyway.”  Mitchell’s chuckle from tactical only added to the insult. 

Kirk pushed Mitchell from his mind.  He wasn’t important right now.  The Romulan and his Vulcan were what was important.  _‘Why would Spockh contact this woman?’_   He stared at her as he thought of his Vulcan.  He thought back to when he ordered Sulu to take him away.  Despite being beaten, Spockh still struggled to tell him something.  He hadn’t known what or why he said it, but it might mean something to this Romulan.  He breathed through his nose before he gambled on one word Spockh had said as Sulu had dragged him from his quarters.  “Does the word Sybok mean anything to you?”

He didn’t need to wait for Uhura to finish translating to the Romulan.  The sharp-featured female barked out a command and the view of her bridge widened marginally.  In the frame, just to her right stood a male Romulan, who was garbed similarly in style to her.  She sat comfortably in command.  He held an air of authority nearly equal to hers.  It was clear by his position at her side, just behind the right of her chair’s backrest.  “I am Sybok.”

Kirk took him in quickly.  The female in command remained relaxed in this male’s presence, so he must have some amount of power on the vessel.  Could he be her second in command?  He gripped a barbaric-looking weapon, a curved blade mounted on a staff, which he held vertically, like an ancient Terran warrior armed with a halberd.  He was unshaven, the early growth of untamed facial hair taking shape, and fierce amber eyes.  Those eyes were narrowed at him, but were softened by the lines around the outer edges as a result from the confident smile he had in common with his captain.  Like hers, his shortly cropped hair spiked wildly in all directions.  In the seconds it took for him to look him over, Kirk decided he did not wish to meet this Romulan in one-on-one combat.  This Sybok was a seasoned warrior, and it was obvious just by looking at him. 

“You were contacted by—”

Sybok raised his hand that was not clasping his weapon as he interrupted Kirk.  “Your prisoner offered an interesting proposal, which my Commander is keen to discuss further.”

“Are you saying he tried to negotiate with you?”  Kirk bristled.  He would take this out on Spockh later.  That Vulcan still had much to learn about his situation.

Sybok ignored him.  “We will meet with you, Captain Kirk, in a location of your choosing should it make you more at ease.  Your ship, perhaps, if you wish it.”  Kirk tried not to shake in anger.  He heard the unspoken insult as though Sybok had shouted it.  And he did not fear Sybok or his woman commander.  “However, we will only do this under two conditions.”

Sybok paused.  He flicked his right eyebrow up on his forehead as he waited for Kirk to reply.  When he did, it was through clenched teeth and a sarcastic smile.  “And they are?”

Sybok’s smile grew.  He caught his commander’s gaze only long enough for her to nod sharply at him.  She was allowing him to make this decision.  Sybok turned his attention back to Kirk.  “The first, my commander and I will bring two additional gekha with us when we meet, and you, Captain, will receive us with no more than three of your crew.” 

Kirk nodded his acceptance of the first condition.  He could work with that.  He immediately began to think about who he would choose to accompany him to meet the Romulans.  His attention returned to Sybok when the Romulan continued to speak.

 “And the second is that we will only meet with you and your crew in the presence of three of your captive Vulcans.”

“Any in particular?” He asked, testily.  Both Sybok and his commander nodded deeply to his question.  “Who?” he asked. 

Even before Sybok answered, Kirk knew the names he was about to say.  “Pid-kom T’Pau, S’haile Sarek, and Thol-osu Spockh.”  Kirk had no time to fully understand or agree to anything before Sybok kept speaking.  “We have traced your vessel’s location, and we will find you within twelve hours.  You have until then to give us your answer.”

The Romulans disconnected the transmission without warning.  Kirk stared at the blank view screen.  Silence reigned on the Bridge.  Kirk’s mind worked furiously.  ‘Who the hell is Spockh?’ he wondered.  _‘Why is he so important?  And his family, why are they all so important?’_   He lowered himself into the command chair, thinking about his Vulcan, his beautiful captive now being tortured in the agony booth.  He would probably be less than enthusiastic about talking after he took him back to his quarters.  But Kirk knew that the answers were with Spockh.  He had to get the Vulcan to talk.

“Screen to forward view,” he commanded. 

“Aye, Sir,” Uhura replied. 

At the sound of her voice, Kirk spun his chair to face her, staring in open surprise as the realization struck him.

Uhura hadn’t translated for Sybok.  He spoke in Standard the whole time.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

 He had not received the sort of tidings he had expected with High Councilor Dev’s communication.  It was not what he’d expected at all.  He remained in the same rigid posture that he’d assumed since seating himself for the call.  Tlha, his fierce mother, was dead.  He had choked on his voice through the ritual words.  “She died with honor.  It was a good day to die.”  The first was true.  But it is never a good day to die, not when there were so many things left to accomplish, so many worlds to conquer.  His mother would accomplish none of this now.  As her position in the Offensive Force, gathering prisoners for the hard labor of Rura Penthe, she rarely had the opportunity as he did. 

She no longer lived.  It did not matter now. 

He stood quickly and gazed at his clenched fists, wanting to fight someone, especially the escaped Romulans that had ended her life.  But they were not within his reach.  Dev, his father, had presented him with another option.

 

_“Seek the Terrans.  Propose an alliance, but do not reveal our true purpose.”_

_“The device Tlha spoke of.”_

_“In her interrogations, their leader, one the Romulans all named Prod Nero, spoke of awaiting a Vulcan scientist with a device capable of unspeakable destruction.”_

_He had his doubts.  “Has that scientist been found?”_

_“When Tlha captured them years ago, there was no device on their ship.  It had been searched repeatedly, and nothing capable of such power was found in their ship.”  Dev had paused, leaning toward the visual pickup.  He leaned in to meet his father.  “But less than one day after their escape, the Romulans were able to cause the disappearance of the planet Vulcan.  All that remains is a black hole where the planet once thrived.”_

_There could only be one conclusion.  “They have the device.”_

_Dev nodded.  “And you must align the Klingons with the Terrans, secure this treaty in any way you can, and when their guard is down, take this device from them.”_

_He understood.  Dev wanted him to ensure the Terrans succeeded in capturing the device from the Romulans.  He would assist the Terrans in bringing down the Romulan ship, boarding the Terran vessel, taking the destructive weapon from their own holds, and return to Klingon space with a weapon capable of allowing them galactic domination over all other powerful forces in the galaxy.  It would ensure Tlha’s death, and those others aboard the forty-seven warbirds, were not lost in vain.  Glory would be restored to their family._

Mang knew his duty both to his family and his Empire.  He could not explain his confliction.  He loosened his fists, letting the fingers relax.  Then, he remembered why his assignment disturbed him.  His gaze fell on the long scar across his right palm.  He had performed the blood ritual when he was fifteen, but he had not seen the other male since they’d parted.  The scar had healed long ago.  He no longer was a youth of fifteen.

This ritual had honor-bound him to another.  And if he still lived, Mang had a life debt to repay.  Not even his people could allow him to shame himself by failing to honor that oath.  He could only succeed if his mission did not force him to cross paths with the one that bore his scar’s twin. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He could tell when Kirk could barely reign in his tension before he lost the willpower and broke the jaw of his debate partner just because he didn’t like the other person’s opinion.  He knew by the grinding of the younger man’s teeth when Kirk wanted very badly to phaser into oblivion the person speaking to him.  He recognized that the cruel, tight smile of his new captain when he calmly looked the speaker over meant he was imagining all kinds of gruesome ends for that person.  He could recall every kind of tension Kirk experienced, and especially when he was talking to someone he wasn’t overly fond about. 

But McCoy had not seen this kind of tension in Jim Kirk in a long time. Since the first month they’d become tentative friends, and he’d made the unknowing mistake of asking Jim where he’d grown up.  His new friend’s eyes stabbed into him like a blade.  His lips twisted into something between a snarl and a disgusted grin.  And he’d only said seven words in reply.  _“I’ll kill you if you ask again.”_   He never asked about Jim’s childhood again. 

But as they grew closer, Kirk revealed a sentence or two of his life before he reached age sixteen.  McCoy could barely put together a functioning medical history with what he could get from Kirk.  So he went looking into Kirk’s files.  Somehow Pike found out about it.  McCoy spent three days as the example to command students who were learning what exactly happened to the human body when confined to the agony booth for extended periods of time.  When Pike released him, he’d given him a similar warning as Kirk.  _“You put your nose where it doesn’t belong, McCoy, and you’ll show these cadets how long it takes for a man to die in the booth.”_

He stopped asking questions, personal ones at least, after that.  He’d rather live than scream until he lost his voice as he was tortured to death in the agony booth.  But, even after that mishap, he and Jim grew close.  And even after only a few years, McCoy was able to read the younger man’s body language better than anyone, except Pike. 

Kirk stared at Sarek, who sat directly across from the captain at the small round table in the human’s quarters.  It had been deathly silent from the moment Kirk admitted his dinner guests into his quarters.  No one wanted to be the first to anger the man.  McCoy saw Sarek scan the suite quickly and silently, knowing who the Vulcan sought.  When Sarek realized that his son was not among them, his shoulders fell just enough to reveal his disappointment.  It was only after they had all gathered at the table for Kirk’s invited dinner meeting that conversation began.  While he’d expected Kirk to be in a commanding mood, he didn’t expect such coldness from him.  He stared at the two Vulcans in the same way that he’d stared at him when he threatened to kill him for asking about his past. 

It unnerved McCoy.  It did not seem to be unnerving his Vulcan husband.  After he asked if Kirk had managed to find time to read T’Pring’s census data, and received a brusque, “No,” in reply, Sarek proceeded to summarize her report and propose that his family members assist Kirk’s communications department in instructing the Vulcans Kirk deems useful enough to put to work aboard his ship the language of Imperial Standard.  McCoy was almost impressed that Sarek did not seem even to notice the tension radiating from Kirk as his questioning and proposal went on. 

“As you can determine for yourself,” Sarek concluded in a smooth, controlled voice, “the skilled Vulcans of your choosing can be of much greater use to you if the language barrier between our peoples is absent.”

Kirk spoke through clenched teeth.  “Right.” 

Sarek raised his water to his mouth and sipped evenly.  McCoy saw Kirk’s tension rising.  The time had come to interfere on behalf of the male Vulcan.  He took a quick sip of whiskey to wet his tongue.  “Nice of your yeoman to find some extra chairs.  Thought you didn’t like to entertain.”

Kirk slid his gaze to him, but his eyes weren’t as murderous toward him as they had been to Sarek.  “I’m not entertaining.  We’ll get to business soon enough.”

The moment the first word came from T’Pau, Kirk’s eyes regained their coldness.  “There is one chair less than is needed.”

“Captain,” Kirk finished.

She nodded serenely.  “Captain,” she corrected herself.  She met Kirk’s gaze directly.  McCoy took another sip of his whiskey, trying to hide his grin.  These two Vulcans have some nerve, some courage.  Crewmembers who’d served with Kirk for years on various missions didn’t meet his eyes or speak as calmly to him as these two Vulcans did that have only known him less than two days.  If the kid took after these two, it was no wonder Kirk was so frustrated.  He shook his head, waiting for Kirk’s response as much as Sarek and T’Pau. 

“He’s being punished.”  Sarek looked to T’Pau quickly, the question clear in his barely-there expression.  Kirk looked to his Vulcan’s father, a smirk spreading slowly.  “But he’ll be joining us soon.”

Sarek then looked to him.  McCoy wondered why Sarek could so easily discuss with Kirk how to make use of his captives, but found it nearly impossible to ask about his own son.  McCoy saw the plea in Sarek’s eyes.  He had mercy on him.  “What’d the kid do to piss you off this time?”  He looked at Kirk after he saw the gratitude flood Sarek’s eyes. 

But Kirk looked at him with a sadistically playful expression.  “He misbehaved.”

Without looking at him, McCoy just knew that Sarek understood this could not mean well for his son.  And he knew that neither Vulcan would dare speak now, when their words may bring further punishment on their family member.  McCoy struggled not to choke on his laugh.  “What’d he do?”

Kirk took his time replying.  He lifted his glass and swirled the liquid in it, watching the amber alcohol until it leveled again, and he took a slow, long sip.  He also took his time in putting the brandy back down onto the table.  McCoy suddenly realized that Kirk hadn’t stalled for time.  He wrestled with deciding just how much to discuss in Sarek and T’Pau’s presence.  When he looked directly at Sarek, McCoy knew that he would be able to see all three of their faces as he spoke.  “He established comms outside the ship.  Called a Romulan named Sybok.”

McCoy didn’t even need to look at the Vulcans to know they shared his reaction.  Stiff, blatant surprise.  Kirk’s eyes hardened.  He didn’t miss any of their reactions.  “You all know that name.”  McCoy found himself the object of Kirk’s attention as he snapped, “Explain.”

He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew that Sarek was about to answer.  He didn’t even look at his husband as he dismissed his voice with a sharp hand gesture before speaking in Sarek’s place.  “He’s not Romulan, Captain,” he said simply.  “He’s a Vulcan.”

This seemed to surprise Kirk, if the furrowed eyebrows were any indication.  “A Vulcan among Romulans,” he mused.  His face twisted for a moment in a tight grimace.  “Isn’t that like—”  His expression tightened further, and he covered his eyes with his right hand so that he could massage his temples with his thumb and middle finger.  He turned his face away from the Vulcans as he growled the rest of his sentence.  “—like flirting with the enemy?”

When McCoy saw him grimace again, he almost reached for his friend, but as quickly as Kirk’s frowned at the revelation that Sybok was a Vulcan, he was back to intently focused and alert.  T’Pau had already begun to speak.  “—banished from the planet at the age of fourteen.”

She had Kirk’s full attention.  “Is he dangerous?”

“He was a fierce warrior,” Sarek said before McCoy could stop him.  “Even as a child.”

That last part clearly interested Kirk.  McCoy knew the younger man could tell what Sarek wasn’t outright saying.  “You know him personally.”  It wasn’t a question.  “And you know him well.”  Sarek only nodded.  Kirk studied the controlled expression of the male Vulcan for a long moment before asking, “Is he an immediate threat to me?”

Sarek did not reveal anything in his face or voice.  “Possibly.”

The answer didn’t satisfy Kirk.  “And would he be if I meet with him?”

T’Pau answered for her son.  “He will not give you a choice, Captain.  You will meet with him, whether by your design or his.  I will do you the courtesy of warning you that Sybok is not one to cross.  It is something our family has come to know through experience.”

McCoy watched Sarek’s eyes close.  He knew his Vulcan husband was vividly recalling their Combat of Honor when Sybok had been fourteen, the event that resulted in Sybok’s banishment.  Looking back at Kirk, he knew that his friend had not seen Sarek’s reaction.  He was thinking on T’Pau’s words instead, taking in her warning. 

“He demanded to meet with me,” Kirk said, his gaze on the center of the little table.  When he raised his eyes, he pierced both Vulcans alternately as he spoke, gauging their reactions to his words.  “But only if both of you and my Vulcan are with me.”  T’Pau and Sarek did not reveal their thoughts to this information.  This frustrated Kirk.  McCoy could tell as soon as he worried his lower lip with his teeth.  For a moment, Kirk looked as young as his age.  He planted his hands flat on the table.  “What makes you three so important?”

McCoy watched as the Vulcans exchanged uneasy glances.  A moment later, Sarek looked to him.  It was strange to know without words what this Vulcan was thinking or what he would say were he actually speaking.  It must have something to do with this new bond of theirs.  Somehow, he knew what Sarek wordlessly asked.  He nodded at Sarek reassuringly.  Sarek turned his attention to Kirk immediately.  “We are the descendants of an ancient and noble bloodline of our people.  With the destruction of Vulcan, we are among the last survivors of—”  Sarek stopped speaking instantly when Kirk grimaced and lowered his head sharply.  “Captain?”  Kirk’s hand went to his temple, rubbing at the pressure point. 

McCoy had his small tricorder out immediately.  “Jim,” the familiar name slipped out unintentionally.  He held the device up to his friend, but Kirk swatted it away like it was an annoying insect. 

“It’s nothing, Bones,” he growled.  He contradicted himself a moment later.  He gasped and clenched his eyes, his body folding further into himself. 

“Jim!”  He grabbed Kirk’s upper arm and held him upright as he restarted the scan. 

But Kirk was having none of it.  He pushed himself from his chair and shakily walked around the metal divider just behind his place at the table.  McCoy was on his feet as soon as Kirk rose, and followed him.  He wouldn’t let him ignore this.  “Captain, let me scan you.”

The look he gave him was anything but friendly.  “Just because you’re okay with weakness now, doesn’t mean I am.”

McCoy looked hard at Kirk and began running the scanner around his head.  “What’s gotten into you?” he whispered low, knowing that the two Vulcans would easily be able to listen to their conversation anyway.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

Kirk turned his cold glare in Sarek’s direction through the divider.  “I’m not gonna do it,” he hissed.

“Jim, what—”

“I’m the one in control here, not those Vulcans, not that Romulan one.”  McCoy realized that Kirk might be in the beginning stages of a panic attack.  “They’re not the ones giving the orders, Bones.  And no Vulcan will make me submit.”  His scanner flashed orange at him, but McCoy barely took notice.  He focused more on Kirk’s words.  He wasn’t just talking about the situation with Sybok.  “I’ll never submit to it.” 

“Jim, calm down.” 

Wide, terrified blue eyes focused on him.  “He’s mine.  I’m not his.” 

Suddenly, he understood. “Is this about pon farr?  Is that what’s been bothering you?”  Kirk’s set jaw confirmed it silently.  “Sir,” he tried to speak to him professionally, hoping it would calm him down.  “It’s not all the time.  It’s only once every seven years or so.”

“I won’t do it,” he insisted.

“Then, your favorite new toy is gonna die.”

Kirk shook his head.  “Then, he’ll die, but he’ll never have me.”

“Jim,” McCoy growled, grabbing his friend’s arm and pulling him close enough to hiss into his ear.  “You want that kid to protect you, right?  To be a bodyguard sworn to your life?  You have to bond with him to make that happen, and part of that bargain involves dealing with pon farr.” 

When Kirk gasped in pain, McCoy forgot their discussion for a moment.  “Jesus, Jim, what’s wrong with you?” He reached out to try and steady him. 

Kirk shoved him so hard that McCoy stumbled back into the shelf wall behind him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sarek had risen but did not yet advance.  “No,”  Kirk’s voice was cold and hard.  “He’s only good for one thing, and once he stops being the good little whore I picked him for, he’s on his own.” 

McCoy knew what that meant.  “Then, you’ll be throwing me aside, too, Captain,” he reminded his friend, his voice rising with each word.  “Or did you forget the deal we all made?”

“Fucking me wasn’t part of it.” 

“It might have to be,” he said, meeting Kirk’s anger. 

“No,” Kirk gasped, backing away from McCoy, shaking his head, the painful twisted expression still in place.  “He’ll never fuck me.”

McCoy barely managed to ask, “What on Earth are you so afraid of?” before Kirk had the door to his quarters opened. 

“Nothing!” he shouted back, before the closing doors separated them.

McCoy lowered himself to the floor, the fight leaving him with Kirk’s presence.  He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down.  “Doctor McCoy,” someone said quietly.  When he opened his eyes he saw Sarek standing in front of him.  “Are you injured?”  He shook his head.  Sarek offered his hand to assist him from the floor.  For once, McCoy didn’t feel like less of a person for accepting help.  “I am distressed,” he informed him. 

McCoy snorted.  “I think we all are.”

Sarek nodded, releasing his hand before going back to his place at the table.  Clearly the Vulcan wanted to finish eating.  “Is this normal behavior for the captain?  He seemed most…manic.” 

McCoy set his tricorder to the right of his plate as he resumed his chair.  “That’s one word for it.”  He shook his head.  “I’ve never seen him like that.”  Something was very wrong with Kirk. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Through the clear barrier of the cylindrical chamber that could only be the agony booth, Spockh gazed at the human male that had bodily taken him from the captain’s quarters.  The human – he did not know his name – had shoved him into this prison, letting him fall to the floor of it before leisurely walking the few paces to the controls of the device. 

“I have a feeling that you and I will come to know each other well while you’re the captain’s plaything,” he began casually.  Spockh’s body throbbed in enough pain to leave him in confusion over what exactly this man meant by his words.  “There are a few good things about being the Security Chief on a ship like this.”  He manipulated his fingers on the control pad, but half of his body blocked Spockh’s view of its display.  He tried to pay attention, but his head hurt, and his stomach was twisting.  “I can monitor talk between any crewmember in any room.  When someone doesn’t do what they should be doing…”  His voice faded, leaving the sentence unfinished long enough for him to face Spockh and smile.  Spockh did not trust that smile.  “…I oversee their punishment.” 

A moment later, he touched the display and activated the device in which Spockh found himself imprisoned.  He did not command his body to stand.  The energy assaulting him from the device wrenched him to his feet, straightened his spine painfully, and stretched his arms backward so that his chest and shoulders strained.  But he did not scream, or cry out, or groan, or whimper.  His breath left him the moment the machine activated, and he struggled to draw a complete breath in the moments that followed. 

As he watched the smile grow on the human’s face, Spockh found himself unable to believe that what he experienced was only half the torturous power of the booth.  The energy released him for only a second, but it was long enough to let gravity bring him into himself.  Then, he was pulled taut again by a spike in that energy returning.  He closed his eyes as his already injured body protested the jarring realignment, but he did not vocalize that pain. 

When the cycle repeated again, Spockh looked toward the control panel of the device.  On the display was a visual readout.  It would not have made a difference had it been in text form.  He read Standard.  However, in his present condition, a visual representation of this torture chamber was less mentally taxing.  The color-coded bars climbed the representation of the cylinder in which he was held.  Green was nearest the bottom, followed by yellow, which seemed to begin fading into orange past the mark that would indicate a fifty percent power intensity level.  The orange climbed past seventy-five percent, and bled into a deep crimson which blinked at the top of the shape that indicated the booth.  This device was activated at full intensity, one-hundred percent.

But Kirk had commanded this other human only to use half power for him. 

“How long do you think until it loses consciousness?” asked the human who controlled this device to the bodyguard that Kirk had sent along with them. 

Spockh glared at the seated human, though he was certain that he did not succeed in displaying his anger.  Most likely, his glare resembled an attempt at hiding the pain his abused body was enduring. 

“I don’t know,” the larger man replied.  “I don’t know much about Vulcans.”

He shifted in the chair, his posture relaxing.  “I bet it’ll take it…”  He trailed off as he thought.  “Three hours.”

“That’s generous.”

“I’m taking into account that these freaks are supposedly tougher than us.”  He turned his attention back to Spockh, smiling at him cruelly.  “We’ll see, though, won’t we?”

Spockh did not know how long he managed to remain silent.  The pain in his body was affecting his mind to the point that time was an unclear sensation.  He only knew that eventually he could not contain his voice any more, and only allowed a faint whimper of pain with each repeated cycle in the moment that he was wrenched to his feet again. 

But he did not lose consciousness.  Not once.

Eventually, from the humans’ displeasure and frustrated outbursts, Spockh concluded that he had been inside this agonizing cylinder for at least three hours.  “Another hour, maybe,” the new prediction came distantly to Spockh’s ears.  “Can’t last more than two more hours.”

“Sulu,” the bodyguard said, quietly, some time later.

The other man looked at him.  Spockh realized ‘Sulu’ must be his name.  “What?”

“Kirk’s coming.”

Sulu shot to his feet from his chair.  “Shit,” he cursed, heading for the control display.  He tapped a few buttons, and Spockh watched as the red and orange indicators vanished on the power graph display.  The intensity lessened by fifty percent, and so did his level of agony.  He was so tired and in so much pain that he could not prevent his shoulders from slouching.  He couldn’t keep his head raised, and let it come forward until his chin rested on his chest.  If the intensity were to decrease any further, he knew that he would be unable to remain standing, even with the power of the device keeping him from complete collapse.

“Look at me.”

Spockh could not raise his head, but he lifted his gaze as much as possible to meet the cold, blue eyes of the captain.  He stood before him, on the opposite side of the clear curve of the booth’s wall.  When Spockh looked at him, he noted one distinct difference between Kirk and Sulu.  Kirk was not smiling at his pain.  “Captain,” he called, aware that his vocal cords could produce nothing stronger than a pleading whisper. 

Kirk looked towards Sulu and gave him a sharp nod.  “Let him out.”

Spockh heard a single, high-pitched beep before all energy keeping him on his feet was gone.  An instant later, he was crumbled on the floor of the booth, gasping for breath, and fighting to stay awake.  He planted his hands on the floor and tried to push himself up, but his muscles would not obey.  He sunk into his shoulders. 

Before he could feel disgust with his own weakness, he was bodily dragged from the booth by a firm grip on his upper arm.  Before he realized it, he was jerked to his feet, but the movement was so abrupt that his balance was affected.  “Stand,” Kirk ordered, already leading him down the corridor.  Spockh attempted to keep standing with his own remaining energy.  But Kirk was walking too quickly, and Spockh was unsteady.  He tripped over his own feet around the corner. 

Kirk’s grip on him tightened, as his arm curled around his waist, looping Spockh’s arm up and around his shoulders, his hold tight on his arm, just above his bandaged wrists.  Spockh leaned into Kirk’s supportive frame, aware that he was regaining his strength faster than he had anticipated, though he was nowhere near able to stand on his own.  When he felt the man’s grip readjust to his hand, Spockh realized why. 

He was drawing strength from the human through the skin to skin contact. 

He had never experienced such telepathy before.  He had used it numerous times in attempts to better understand his mother’s human emotions, and he had experienced mind melds on various occasions – both consensual and forced.  But this was something new for Spockh.  He had never been able to transfer an uninjured individual’s strength and energy into himself before. 

Spockh brought his other hand up to mirror Kirk’s restrictive hold and gingerly wrapped his fingers around the back of Kirk’s hand.  He looked at the human’s face to be certain his contact went either unnoticed or that Kirk did not suspect that he was intending to harm the human.  He was so distracted by both his pain and the fascination of gaining strength from physical skin-to-skin contact that he did not know if Kirk had already been speaking.  He focused as much attention as he could on his captor’s voice. 

“That was stupid, little one.  What the hell were you doing?”  Kirk frowned and glanced at Spockh from the corner of his eyes.  “I give you time to heal, but you seem to like pain.  You had to know that what you did would mean punishment for you.”  Spockh saw that Kirk’s direction was leading them to the turbolift.  “And if you knew you needed time to heal, knew that if you did anything I didn’t like, then you’d end up injured again, but you did it anyway…”  The turbolift doors parted, and Kirk hauled Spockh into the lift.  Only after Kirk turned him to face the doors again did Spockh notice that they were accompanied by two other men – one of them was the man that had wagered against Sulu on the level of his endurance, and the other he recalled was named Farrell.  Kirk turned his gaze to Spockh, a calculating look in his eyes.  “Then you had to have a damn good reason to do it.”

Kirk continued to stare at Spockh, and Spockh met his gaze.  He felt the turbolift moving, but he did not know who had commanded it to do so.  It was not relevant.  What was relevant to the moment and their interaction is Spockh’s reason for his actions that had led the two of them to this moment.  He knew that he could not overpower Kirk physically so long as the chemical inhibitor remained in his system.  He only had one weapon against this man – his intellect.  He could not torture the man, but he could frustrate him.  As it is, Spockh knew he had the answers that Kirk desired.  For a moment, the control of the situation lay with him and not the captain.   

Spockh took a deep, shuddering breath, never breaking eye contact with Kirk.  “If you had been less emotional and more of a rational captain, you would have permitted me to speak.”  He saw the spark of anger in Kirk’s blue eyes.  “You would then know why I acted as I did.” 

Kirk’s eyes narrowed at Spockh and he did not look away even as he snapped out a voice command to the turbolift computer in order to change their destination.  Spockh felt Kirk’s curiosity, though it was buried beneath the more dominant feeling.  Spockh could not be certain as to what he should classify Kirk’s emotions, having so little practice in reading him.  Had he been using his telepathic skill on his father or mother, the task would be remarkably simple.  But Kirk proved more difficult to gauge – at least at this point in their association. 

In another minute, the doors parted, and Kirk handled Spockh roughly out of it and down the corridor.  Spockh knew the other two men followed.  Kirk spit a command at them even as they progressed quickly to their new destination.  “Both of you wait outside, as long this takes.  No one enters.” 

“Yes, sir,” confirmed Farrell. 

Spockh was pushed into the newly revealed room by the captain.  Before he could truly get his bearings and analyze his location, Kirk flung him into one of the plush chairs.  Spockh collapsed into the cushions, illogically grateful for the feel of something soft instead of the cold hardness of the torture booth he had been subjected to for the past several hours.  Kirk turned away from Spockh but his voice carried back to him.  “The Cochrane Room isn’t monitored, so it’s secure.  Now talk, Vulcan,” he ordered.  “Why did you establish contact outside of my ship?”

Spockh wondered about the truth of Kirk’s statement.  Was he absolutely certain that this room was not subject to surveillance?  He would have no choice but to believe him. 

Kirk faced him again, his anger gone from his expression.  He looked as though he had all the time left of his life available to spend questioning him.  He looked quite patient.  “If you were one of my crew, I would have you killed for what you did.”

He could not stop his eyebrow from rising at that meaningless threat.  “Then, I consider myself fortunate that I am not a member of your crew.”

The human’s face twisted in annoyance.  “Why?  Who were you contacting?”  He sprang forward, planting his hands on each arm of the chair in which Spockh sat.  Kirk leaned in close to him as he asked, “Why contact a Romulan ship?”

Spockh allowed the ghost of a smile to lift the left corner of his lips as he calmly replied.  “You re-established contact,” he stated.  “Good.  I had calculated it highly likely that you would do so based on my actions and your need to control.”

Kirk swept his gaze from Spockh’s eyes to his lips, and all down his body, before returning back to his eyes.  That unforgiving coldness returned to the glacial color of Kirk’s eyes.  “So you think you can predict me, huh?”

“Indeed.”

Kirk chuckled to himself, before offering Spockh a closed-mouth smile.  Before Spockh could gasp in surprise, Kirk’s hand fisted into the fabric at Spockh’s collarbone and the human flung him effortlessly to the floor.  Moving with a speed faster than Spockh expected, Kirk straddled him, one hand pinning him to the floor still clenching his clothing, while the other hand poised his dagger only millimeters from Spockh’s left eye.  “Did you predict that, little one?”

Despite the blade threatening half of his vision, Spockh did not look away from Kirk, nor did he permit any fear from coloring his voice in his answer.  “It does not matter—”

“So you didn’t!” Kirk declared victoriously. 

“—because you did not bring me to an unmonitored location only to kill me.  You brought me here solely to question me.”

He knew the moment that Kirk realized Spockh’s statement was correct when his victory disappeared from his expression, and in the way the hand pinning him down loosened for only a moment.  But his self-assurance returned just as quickly.  “I could’ve brought you here for other reasons,” he said, pointedly grinding their lower bodies together sensually.  He lazily slid his free hand down Spockh’s chest, until he was close to the edge of his lower garment.  “Maybe I want you again.”

Spockh halted Kirk’s progress into his clothing by tightly gripping the man’s wrist.  Kirk rewarded his boldness by moving his dagger from his eye to the side of his throat where his pulse was clearly visible.  Spockh took hold of his forearm, trying to prevent Kirk’s blade from touching his skin.  “You can’t stop me from taking what I want from you, little one.”

Spockh knew that had he been at his full strength, he most easily could have prevented Kirk from gaining the advantage of his current situation.  However, he did not possess the superior strength between them.  He knew Kirk owed that only to the injection.  Without it, the Vulcans aboard this human’s vessel could revolt against him to regain their lives.  But with it, even the strength of a human – at three times less that of a Vulcan – could easily overpower them as though they were all still in their infancy.  Spockh gazed at Kirk pleadingly.  “You said you are giving me time to heal from your previous abuse.”

“I lied.”

But Spockh could feel that Kirk had just told him a lie.  “You did not then, but are doing so now.”

Kirk shrugged, but did not otherwise alter their stalemate position.  “Then, I just changed my mind.”

His left eyebrow rose.  “You have not.  You simply seek to use physical force or the threat of such in order to achieve cooperation from—”

“Don’t you ever stop talking?” Kirk complained before he silenced Spockh with his lips.  Spockh was so surprised by the action that his grip went slack on Kirk’s body for an instant.  But it was enough for the human.  Kirk brought the blade out from between them and stabbed it deep into the cushion of the chair from which he’d thrown the Vulcan.  His other hand was busy freeing itself from Spockh’s weakened grip to curl around the Vulcan’s wrist.  Spockh took advantage of his one freed hand to try to take Kirk’s neck.  The human blocked him easily, taking Spockh’s arm in an unforgiving grasp.  Kirk tore his mouth from his, but not in shock or surprise.  Even without a full breath, Kirk’s smile was enough to let Spockh deduce that the human was actually trying not to laugh at him. 

Spockh resisted as Kirk raised both of his arms up above his head and held them down.  He felt like a preserved dissection specimen, pinned down and stretched, like something to be studied.  Only Kirk wasn’t studying him with a scalpel and forceps.  Kirk made his study with his lips and tongue.  The human did not succeed in coaxing his mouth to open for him, but he remained against him until the need to breathe overtook them both.  When they separated, both Kirk and Spockh gasped desperately for air. 

“Tell me why you did it,” Kirk asked breathlessly. 

Spockh opened his eyes, not even having realized they had closed, and stubbornly pressed his lips together.  Kirk grinned at him, before he resumed his persuasion tactic.  Spockh felt Kirk press tiny, gentle kisses along his jawline from close to his ear down to his chin.  He used his tongue to find Spockh’s lips again, whispering quietly, “Tell me, little one,” before pushing his lips against his again. 

Spockh became distantly aware that Kirk had both of his wrists in one hand, and that the other had returned to his navel.  With possessive surety, Kirk reached lower and cupped Spockh’s genitals through the fabric.  Spockh instinctively bucked, breaking his mouth away from Kirk’s as he gasped at the unexpected sensation.  Kirk chuckled to himself.  “Tell me why calling that ship was more important to you than letting yourself heal from last night.” 

When he shook his head, he saw Kirk begin to think on the answer himself.  Spockh was curious as to how logical this human actually proved.  Kirk’s eyes burned as he came forward again to meet their lips.  Spockh shivered at the experience that time.  Kissing was a stimulating activity.  He suspected his reaction could not be avoided…unless he had managed to both study and achieve Kolinahr before his homeworld had been lost.  But he had done neither, and Vulcan was gone.  Spockh admitted his weakness to himself.  Even if he objected to Kirk’s aggression, Spockh decided that the activity itself of kissing was satisfactory.  He focused on Kirk’s words. 

“You didn’t call Nero.”  Spockh did not know this name.  Kirk must have seen his confusion, because he elaborated on that statement.  “The Romulan that destroyed Vulcan.”

Spockh grimaced as Kirk said it.  It was not the first time he had heard of his home being removed from existence by another, and he knew it would not be the last.  With both of his hands restrained by Kirk and with the man’s weight keeping his legs immobile, there was little Spockh could do to prevent him from his current task.  These were Kirk’s clothes, familiar to the man, so it was no surprise that they did not delay him as he quickly loosened them enough to plunge his hand into them to seek his genitals.  He shuddered as Kirk’s hand made contact.

“You called a Romulan bitch that happens to have a rogue Vulcan on her ship.”  Kirk wrapped him fingers around Spockh’s penis and began to stroke him.  Kirk’s eyes were focused on his, watching his reaction both to his words and his touch.  “And that Vulcan knows your grandmother.”  Kirk leaned over him, keeping his hand active on his intimate flesh, and sucked on Spockh’s pulse in his neck.  “And your father.”  He licked the same spot soothingly, tracing a line up to his earlobe.  He whispered softly, “And you.”  Kirk took Spockh’s earlobe between his lips, flicking the edge with the tip of his tongue. 

“He will not—” Spockh gasped at the physical onslaught.  He swallowed.  “—not negotiate with you with—” To his shame, he nearly moaned as Kirk continued teasing his ear.  That combined with the expert manner in which the man was manipulating his organ was too stimulating for Spockh to speak a single sentence at once.  He felt his cheeks flush in humiliation.  He took a deep breath and willed himself to continue speaking despite Kirk’s activities.  “—without seeing my family’s condition.”

Kirk raised himself again to look directly at Spockh.  “Why?  What makes you three so important?  Why call that Vulcan?”  Spockh realized that Kirk was expecting a reply.  He waited for it with such focus that he’d abandoned his activity within Spockh’s trousers.  His hot hand simply held him in a loose grasp.  Spockh struggled to formulate his reply in the shortest manner but conveying the necessary and relevant information, when Kirk decided that he did not speak quickly enough. 

He released Spockh’s organ, and yanked the dagger from its embedded place in the chair, raising it high.  Spockh stiffened in terror.  Surely he would not do it.  He closed his eyes, waiting to be impaled, to die.  He heard the dagger stick into the floor above his head.  He felt no pain.  Why did he not feel pain?  Spockh opened his eyes and craned his neck to see.  The dagger held his arms in place now instead of Kirk’s hand.  It secured the sleeves of his clothing to the floor, effectively keeping him there.  Spockh felt like a scientific specimen even more at that moment. 

“Tell me.” 

Spockh looked to Kirk, who leaned his weight back, nearly resting his entire body weight on Spockh’s knees, immobilizing him.  He said nothing to the captain.  Kirk would not kill him so long as he was useful to him.  He knew that. 

But it didn’t stop him from hooking his fingers at the edge of his trousers and yanking them from his body.  Kirk did not even try to remove the garment fully, but only bringing it down to his lower thighs.  Spockh closed his eyes, illogically wishing that he could escape this in the recesses of his mind.  But Kirk’s voice still reached him.  “You only have to tell me the truth to save yourself a lot of pain.” 

He was struck across the face when he kept his eyes closed.  Spockh focused on Kirk’s eyes briefly, before he noticed the movement lower on the human’s body.  Kirk was unabashedly working his own flesh with his fist, coaxing himself to full arousal, a devilish smile across his lips.  “Tell me,” he ordered Spockh. 

Spockh shook his head. 

Kirk’s sighed, and shifted his weight to swipe Spockh’s captive legs from under his own body.  He pushed them toward Spockh’s chest until the Vulcan was nearly bent double.  Spockh closed his eyes, vainly attempting to disguise the sudden moisture that blurred his vision.  Kirk had promised he would have time to heal.  He told him he could heal.  Doctor McCoy told him that Kirk liked him, that he wanted him safe.  How was this safe?  Was this how Kirk demonstrated that he liked him?  By going against his own words? 

He felt Kirk lean forward, keeping his legs pushed toward his body, but the human hooked his clothed knees over his left shoulder.  He wrapped one arm around Spockh’s legs holding them to his chest, while his other hand slid between Spockh’s lower back and the floor to pull him up onto his own thighs.  Spockh squirmed when he felt Kirk’s erection slide against his entrance. 

Then nothing happened.  The only sounds to be heard were Kirk’s heavy, exciting breaths and Spockh’s aborted gasps as he desperately refused to sob.  That three tears had already escaped his closed eyes was humiliating enough.  He would not give Kirk the satisfaction again of hearing his fear and grief. 

“Look at me,” he said, his tone deceptively soft.  Spockh refused, clenching his eyes harder.  Another tear escaped from the effort. 

 “Just tell me why you called them, little Vulcan.”  Kirk’s right hand cupped his cheek, and wiped away the evidence of his tears there. 

Spockh gasped then, but not because of Kirk’s unexpected gentleness.  His mind flooded with a brief incident through which he’d never lived. 

 

_He barely recognized her she was so hidden beneath the bruises and the blood.  Her eyes were still open, but they saw nothing anymore.  Two uniformed men had her by the arms and legs as they carried her carelessly past.  Her nails were coated with blood.  She must have fought.  Her abuse was fresh, the blood and semen dripped from her.  But that was not what she’d died from.  Her unnaturally twisted neck proved that._

_“That is what happens to the toys that misbehave,” the man next to him warned._

_“No,” he argued quietly, watching as his brutalized childhood playmate disappeared through the doors that led to the main exercise yard.  But it no longer saw training or athletics.  Only emptiness.  “It’s what happens when an owner doesn’t take care of his toys.”_  

_“What did you say, boy?”_

_He turned and faced him, knowing he’d already earned punishment.  So what difference did it make to repeat it?  “They break them.”_

_When his cheek exploded in pain from the man’s fist and he fell to the polished floor, he still managed to glare at him.  He even spit the blood in his mouth at the man’s feet._

_He only knew pain for the next two days after that._

_But he did not break._

It was as though no time had passed at all.  Kirk still gazed at him, his expression a scowl, but there was something in his eyes that seemed different to Spockh.  Was he nothing more to Kirk than a plaything?  He did not know for certain.  Spockh concentrated on the hand against his cheek, reaching out.  He heard it as though Kirk screamed it at him. 

_Don’t want to hurt you.  Not like this._

Spockh gasped at the thought.  He could use this to his advantage.  He could force Kirk to do what he clearly did not want to do by remaining stubbornly silent and not give him what he sought.  He could hurt Kirk by making Kirk hurt him.  Yet there was a way to avoid injury to both of them.  All he had to do was tell Kirk the truth. 

_“Believe it or not, kid, Jim wants you safe.  He likes you.”_   Perhaps Doctor McCoy was correct. 

“Captain.”  He exhaled the title, still reeling from the realization about Kirk’s contradicting thoughts and behavior. 

Kirk pressed his lips into a thin line as he took himself in hand and aligned their bodies, but poised against Spockh’s healing entrance.  _Please._   The hand on his cheek carded through his hair until it cradled the back of his skull.  _Say no._

Spockh shook his head at Kirk’s unvoiced plea.  He could not force this man to do what he did not want to do, even though the captain had no such hesitation previously when it came to forcing Spockh to act against his own desires.  He surrendered.  “I did this for you.”

Kirk stared at him, the shock of Spockh’s cooperation clear on his face.  “What?”

Spockh met the confusion in Kirk’s eyes with reassurance.  “I was working to secure an alliance for you.”

The captain reacted as though Spockh’s words burned him.  He flung Spockh’s captive legs away from him, yanked the dagger from the where it was embedded in the floor, and struggled to his feet after nearly falling backwards from the imbalance.  With his dagger still in his hand, Kirk turned away from Spockh righting his clothing and mumbling to himself. 

Spockh could not move for a moment, even though his arms were now released from the dagger’s hold.  Kirk let him go.  Spockh took longer to recover from Kirk’s unexpected retreat.  He managed to get his clothing back into decent order, covering his exposed flesh, just as Kirk turned back to him, pointing the dagger in his direction.  Spockh could not bring himself to his feet.  He could barely support his weight on his elbows.  “I don’t need your help, Vulcan!”

“It is obvious that you need someone’s help,” Spockh disagreed.  “Your subordinates disobey your orders.”

Kirk froze and his arm holding the dagger fell to his side.  “What?”

Spockh realized that Kirk may not be as in control of this vessel as the captain thought.  If Sybok cooperated and convinced his commander to complete the alliance that they had discussed before Kirk had barged into the room and sent him to that torture chamber, then there could exist a possibility that the situation for both himself and Kirk could improve.  It was very simple, but also potentially dangerous for him.  If he did not inform Kirk of his disobedient subordinates, then Kirk’s life – and consequently Spockh’s life – would be in great danger from those subordinates.  Most likely they would assassinate him.  If Spockh chose to make Kirk aware of his danger, then he would take steps in order to better defend himself from mutiny and possibly ultimate assassination.  The choice was simple.

The only way he was able to stand was to pull himself up to his feet using the chair next to him.  As he worked on steadying his balance, Spockh answered Kirk’s question.  “The man you assigned to oversee my torture—” 

“Sulu,” Kirk supplied.

Spockh nodded.  “He did not obey you when you commanded him to set the level of the device to half power, full duration.”  Kirk focused on him.  It was promising.  “He chose instead to force me to endure full power and full duration.” Kirk nodded at him to continue.  “You cannot maintain your authority and power as captain of this vessel without assistance and allies, from outside of the ship if connections from within it fail.  It is for this reason that I sought help.”

Kirk stepped closer to him.  “But you didn’t know about my crew until after you called the Romulan.”

Spockh nodded.  “That is true.”

Kirk came to stand directly in front of him.  “And you contacted another ship before knowing that.”  He smirked at Spockh.  “The only way I can understand it is this: you were trying to get help for you to escape me.”

“No, I—”

Spockh could see the color variations in Kirk’s blue eyes from the small distance between them.  “You’re planning to take over my ship, then.”

“No, captain.”

“Don’t lie to me.”  Kirk’s voice began to rise, dangerously.

Spockh shook his head.  “I am Vulcan.  I cannot lie to you.”

“You wanted to get that Romulan as an ally for you, didn’t you?” the human accused him loudly. 

Spockh reacted instinctively, matching Kirk’s volume.  “I did it to gain help for us.”

That surprised Kirk.  He backed away a step.  “For us?” he asked.  Spockh could hear the doubt clearly in his voice.  “Explain.”

“I will not abandon my people.  They have already suffered enough with the destruction of our world.  But if my actions will eventually ensure that they see the one who took our planet from us brought to justice,” Spockh said, unable to look at Kirk.  Instead, he stared at the bandages around his wrists.  He did not think his recent treatment made them any worse, but because of them he knew that he’d become weak and exhausted.  He looked back to Kirk as he finished.  “Then I will do all in my limited power to do so.”

Kirk scoffed.  “Limited, yes.  And how would you do that?”

Spockh sighed.  “We have no ships, now.  And we do not have strength to fight this Romulan on our own.”  He could not stand any more.  With what little remained of his physical strength, he lowered himself into the chair that Kirk had originally thrown him.  But he mustered enough energy to effectively glare at Kirk as the human came to stand over him, forcing Spockh to crane his neck.  Spockh allowed his distaste to show.  “And as much as I detest what you have done to me, what you’ve taken from me, I know that somehow I am now tied to your fate.  I am dependent on you in every way.”  Kirk grinned at him in satisfaction.  It disappeared a moment later as Spockh continued to explain their situation.  “We are both targets for each other’s enemies.  Should you come to harm, it is quite likely that I will as well.  The reverse is then also true.  And I do not intend to die yet.”  His head fell forward.  He could not look at this man now, not as he explained his new role.  “And because of that, I know that I must protect you in any way that I can.  No matter how much you choose to abuse me, harm me, or use my body for your pleasures.  Only in this way will I be able to assist my people.  And so long as you live, I shall live.” 

Silence settled in the room for a long while.  Finally, Spockh saw Kirk’s hand come toward his face.  A single finger hooked under his chin and gently tilted his head up.  For the first time, the aggression was absent from Kirk’s expression.  Instead, he looked pensive.  “That’s why you sent that message.”  He swept his eyes over Spockh’s face, looking at the new bruising from when he beat him in his quarters.  “To keep both of us alive.”

Spockh’s relief took what remained of his control.  He could not prevent his eyes from producing moisture.  It did not fall, but he grew overwhelmed by the realization that Kirk finally began to understand.  Spockh nodded sharply at the young captain.

Kirk returned the nod.  He reached forward with his other hand and lightly ran his forefinger over Spockh’s cheekbone.  By the sting, he knew that Kirk traced bruised, tender flesh.  He tried to reach for Kirk’s emotion, and what he felt he could not clearly define from him.  Kirk said nothing to help him determine it, either.  He continued to run his fingers over discolored skin, a thoughtful expression gentling his features. 

Spockh did not know how much time had passed before Kirk took his hands and pulled him up to stand.  “Come on,” he urged.  When Spockh swayed Kirk took his arm and draped it over his shoulders.  His other hand turned Spockh’s face toward his own.  “You’re still mine.” 

“Yes,” Spockh agreed.

“Only mine.” 

Spockh could feel Kirk’s uncertainty.  Even though it sounded as though Kirk had stated it, his uncertainty allowed Spockh to conclude that he actually asked him.  He nodded slowly.  “Understood, Captain.” 

It must have been the answer he wanted.  Kirk smiled at him for a moment, then brought their lips together.  It was shorter in duration than all previous kisses the captain had given Spockh, but for a reason he could not identify this kiss was much more satisfying.  “Good,” Kirk breathed against Spockh’s lips, before chasing after his words to join them again.  “Good.” 

Once the doors of the Cochrane Room slid aside, however, all of Kirk’s gentleness vanished and Spockh was handled as just a prisoner once more. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He remembered when he’d gone to various victory celebrations in the dining halls aboard the I.S.S. Kelvin after a particularly successful mission.  The food served had been mouth-wateringly fresh, not replicated, and layered with succulent sauces, spiced to perfection and accompanied by the captain’s choice of spirits.  Before the Kelvin’s – and consequently George Kirk’s – destruction, Captain Robau favored one of two choices.  His favorite had been the Klingon Bloodwine he’d confiscated upon the capture of a very important Klingon’s ship.  He’d also confiscated the lives of everyone aboard that ship.  The second favorite of Robau’s was a certain large collection of Romulan Ale, gifted to him upon his commission to captain the I.S.S. Kelvin. 

However, at this particular reception there was no fresh food.  It would be considered a waste to serve it to those imprisoned at the Tantalus Penal Institution.  Simon looked around at the various offerings on the single table designated for food and drink.  There was no Klingon Bloodwine, and certainly no Romulan Ale, to be seen. 

He assembled a small plate for himself, knowing that anything larger than his regular allotment would probably make him sick.  Montgomery Scott and his new cellmate, the elder Vulcan, Spock stayed close to him.  He would much rather have stayed close to Winona, but she had immediately claimed Captain Pike’s interest when Doctor Adams had come to release all of them from their cells. 

 

_“Come, friends,” Adams announced, Christopher Pike standing at his side.  “Our brave captain wants a reunion with some of you.”_

_Simon watched as Pike’s gaze slid to Winona’s cell, where she had straightened at the word ‘reunion.’  He remembered how he had gone after Winona when they were in the Academy.  Once George Kirk, Pike’s closest friend, had gotten her attention, it had seemed that Pike had left Winona alone.  With George and Winona attaching themselves to one another, and with neither of them in any position of authority, Pike seemed to lose interest in pursuing Winona.  They all remained friends.  That didn’t mean that Simon trusted Pike not to carry something out that would give him both the authority he desired and a place in Winona’s bed.  Because of that lurking danger, Simon had taken it upon himself to keep close to her whenever George was not there at her side.  He knew that she had not been assaulted by Pike because, between Simon and George, she was never alone.  But now, Simon had no power to protect her._

_Pike kept his focus on Winona, even as Adams deactivated the forcefields on other cells.  The Doctor wore a self-satisfied smile as he brought down the field at Scott’s cell.  “It’s time to revisit your judge, Scott.”_

_“What?”  Simon clearly heard the confusion in Scott’s voice._

_“Didn’t you know?” Adams asked, his smile widening.  “Captain Pike here is the very reason you and I have become such close friends.”_

_Simon watched as Scott turned his head sharply towards Pike, who met his gaze calmly.  But the captain did not walk away from Winona’s cell.  He allowed his voice to carry.  “When word spread in the Academy of a lieutenant in the Engineering Division being on the brink of fully developing a process he’d decided to call transwarp beaming, I knew that officer had to be silenced.”  Simon thought the word choice interesting.  Silenced almost universally meant executed.  Then again, he had elected on silence about his device, and yet he still lived.  Perhaps a similar situation occurred with Montgomery Scott.  “True, your technology and the process of transwarp beaming is now lost to everyone in the Empire, but it had to be done.”  Scott was shaking in rage with every subsequent word Pike spoke.  “Can you imagine the chaos and disorder your equation would have brought?  How easy it would be for you or anyone with transporter knowledge to effectively wipe out of existence anyone they wanted, from almost anywhere just snatching them from wherever they were and beaming them to who knows where?  The power of command and the authority on a starship would never be with its captain again.  It’d be in the hands of engineers.  I couldn’t have that madness.”_

_Scott finally found his voice.  “You reported me.”_

_Pike nodded slowly, confidently.  “Directly to the Empress.  She agreed with me.  Her Highness probably thought she would make a prime target.  After all, if captains and admirals could be snatched from their posts, why couldn’t our Empress?”_

_“She’d be the first one I’d’ve snatched, right after you!” Scott shouted, lunging towards Pike, but his progress was halted by his cellmate grabbing onto his shoulder._

_“It will gain you nothing to attack Captain Pike,” the Vulcan advised.  “Except, perhaps, your death.”_

_Scott glared at the elder alien.  “I’m here anyway.  I’m dead already.”_

_“I must disagree.” And just like that the flames cooled to dangerous embers in Montgomery Scott._

_Adams lowered his forcefield next.  “Time to have dinner with the man you could have been, Van Gelder.”  Unlike Scott, Simon resolved he would not be baited by either Adams or Pike tonight._

But watching Pike freely run his hands over Winona’s body was testing that resolve.  She was so far gone that she did not even realize the man touching her was not her dead husband.  Anytime anyone touched her she called out for George.  And even after all of these years, he had no idea if she was calling out to him for help, or if she truly believed her husband had miraculously survived ramming the Kelvin into that gargantuan vessel. 

Pike pressed her against his side at the seating area he’d decided on for himself and Winona.  When she had a moment of clarity, seeming to recognize him as Christopher Pike, he nonchalantly asked Adams something that made Simon almost drop his small dinner plate to the floor.  “Would your neutralizer be able to make her believe that she was always mine and not Kirk’s?”

But Simon didn’t get to hear Adams’s response because a certain Vulcan had come to stand at his side, Scott coming up to flank him on the other side.  “I make my offer again, Mister van Gelder.  If you accept, you must do so momentarily.  Time is of the essence for us.”

Simon took his time in pouring himself a glass of water from the large carafe on the table.  Scott was searching the food offerings desperately for a sandwich.  Even with his back turned, he heard Winona make a sad, distressed sound.  Pike must be trying to tell her that George is dead again.  She would never understand him no matter how many times he said it.  But the neural neutralizer just might be able to convince her where Pike’s voice alone – without assistance – could not.  He nodded, knowing the Vulcan would see the movement.  “How do I tell you what you want to know without anyone else hearing it?”

Spock moved gracefully, even at his advanced age for a Vulcan, as he plucked some of the replicated fruit from the large plate and carefully placed it in his own bowl in his left hand.  “I would meld with you.”  Simon looked at him questioningly.  Spock understood and explained again.  “I would join our minds to learn what you know.  Speech is not required.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

Spock continued to gather his sustenance, speaking casually.  “As we discussed previously, our situation remains thus.  If they kill you in the attempt to retrieve the information by force, your device will never be.  And that technology is essential in order to overthrow the Empress.”  Scott looked up briefly, his eyes glancing instantaneously across the entire room before giving a single sharp nod to Spock.  They must have discussed this.  Scott’s position allowed for observation of the room’s other occupants to ensure their discussion remained between them.  “I remind you,” Spock continued, “that I have withstood torture many times.  If you give me your knowledge, I assure you I will not break.”

A cry reverberated in the room, causing the three of them to face the commotion.  The shout was aborted by Pike viciously backhanding Winona, sending her sideways into the table.  Simon bristled where he stood.  He wanted nothing more than to kill Pike at that moment.  Winona struggled in Pike’s hold, her cheeks beginning to streak with her tears.  And yet no one moved forward to help her.  Adams himself was laughing at her situation.

Simon got close to Spock.  “I hope you can still endure torture, Vulcan.”

“Mister Scott,” Spock called.  “If you would be so kind.”

Scott didn’t need to be told again.  He transformed from silent and cooperative to boisterous and disruptive in only a moment. He upended the banquet table and began to rant about the lack of decent food at a captain’s reception.  The Vulcan pulled Simon to the ground behind the table that Scott had made into a visual barrier.  “Be silent.  I shall be swift as possible.” 

A hand was on his face then, and Spock mumbled some words softly.  A moment later, Simon felt something explode in his head.  But it was nothing like the neural neutralizer.  That had always been painful.  This was painful in a different way.  He realized that it was overwhelming.  _Think of your device._   Simon did as the voice in his head commanded.  He thought of his designs, and what else remained in order to complete it.  _Good.  Remarkably similar._   Simon didn’t care about that. 

_Did it work?_   Simon had no idea.

Suddenly, as quickly as it had begun, the Vulcan left his mind.  It felt like breaking the surface of water to finally breathe after struggling for so long you were certain you would die from drowning.  He did not wish to repeat this mind-joining experience again. 

“I must strike you to indicate that you sustained injury during Mister Scott’s fit.” 

Simon grabbed Spock’s wrist even as the alien wrapped his fingers around what remained of his discarded fruit bowl.  “Wait.  When we escape.”  Spock nodded quickly.  “Winona leaves here, whether I make it out alive or not.”  He raised the bowl a few inches from the floor.  “We don’t leave this place without her.”  Simon knew he sounded desperate.  He did not care. 

Spock gave a sharp nod, as though he were a subordinate acknowledging a command.  “I swear it.”

A second later, Simon’s face exploded in agony.  As he lost consciousness, he heard Winona crying.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“I don’t like that he didn’t eat.” 

Sarek looked at his new mate.  Shortly after Kirk’s abrupt departure, they had finished their meal in silence.  Despite McCoy making it a point to be certain that Sarek had eaten since their sudden bonding, he did not wish to refuse sustenance when it was freely offered.  And so he ate what he had been given but no more.  His mother must have come to the same conclusion.  Both of them had finished all of their food and drink. 

McCoy, even while he continued his meal, had half of his attention focused on his tricorder readings.  Sarek saw the displeasure and disapproval in his mate’s scowl directed at the little machine. 

“Captain Kirk is fond of food.”  Sarek thought it highly likely that McCoy was trying to start a conversation.  But when he received a startled glance for his observation, Sarek realized that he miscalculated and that McCoy had simply thought aloud. 

The human recovered his surprise well, falling into conversation as Sarek had initially thought McCoy had intended.  “I didn’t say he likes it.”  He shrugged.  “I didn’t say he doesn’t like it.”  Sarek resisted the urge to correct him on the use of a double negative.  “But food’s definitely important to Kirk.  He hates wasting it.”

Sarek followed McCoy’s pointed look to Kirk’s barely eaten meal.  T’Pau also glanced at it.  “This is unusual for Kirk?”

“Very,” McCoy confirmed.  He turned his attention then to his tricorder.  “So are his readings, actually.  I’ve never seen him act like that before, and I’ve never gotten readings off him like these before.”

“What are you implying?”

McCoy stared at T’Pau.  “I’m saying his readings are way off.”  He looked back at his machine, turning it in his hands.  “Maybe it’s still configured for you people.”

Sarek held out his hand to McCoy.  “May I?”

McCoy looked at him.  Sarek could easily read his expression.  Many years with Amanda had taught him that skill.  McCoy was wondering what possible use Sarek’s assistance could be.  “What the hell?” he said, before handing Sarek the tricorder.  “Good luck.”

As he looked at the readings from the Captain, McCoy attacked the last bites of his dinner.  Sarek studied the readings, recalling Amanda’s at rest readings and reconciling those with the ones before him.  He could see some variations, but nothing to indicate that Kirk was ill.  When he realized precisely what was displayed before him, he offered the tricorder to his mother.  She accepted it and studied the readings.  A moment later, she raised her eyes to Sarek.  “Fascinating.”

McCoy had finished his meal and looked between the two of them.  “What’s fascinating?”

T’Pau looked at Sarek.  Sarek released a long breath and turned his head to study the table.  He did not know what she would say. 

“I have not had many opportunities to study a human’s physiological readings.  The only previous instance I have had with this had been with my son’s previous mate.”  McCoy’s eyes narrowed as he watched her.  He settled himself in his seat for whatever else T’Pau might say.  “This limited experience proves to be a difficulty in properly analyzing your captain’s readings, however, I name them fascinating because they—”

Her explanation was interrupted as the doors to Kirk’s quarters opened and a familiar figure to Sarek was pushed through them.  He recognized him immediately, even as he crumbled to the floor with a small whimper.  His son. 

Without being conscious of his action, Sarek stood.  He had only taken two steps before the captain threatened him with an outstretched dagger.  “Sit your ass down.”  Sarek had no choice, and reclaimed his seat, not missing the sympathetic glance from McCoy.

Kirk stalked back to Spockh and tangled his hand in the short black hair and pulled.  Sarek could not stop his mouth from falling open in shock at the man’s harshness to his son.  Kirk began to drag Spockh by the hair to the table.  Sarek watched as Spockh struggled to relieve the pressure from his head by trying to get to his feet, oftentimes unable to and stumbling.  It only resulted in Kirk tugging on Spockh’s hair to keep bringing him along towards the group at the table.  He only released him when they reached the table.  “Eat.”

Sarek could not see his son.  Spockh had fallen to the floor as soon as Kirk released him.  But he heard him, heard his ragged breathing.  For his son Sarek kept his eyes open.  He had to keep his strength when his son had none left.  “Rai,” Spockh whispered from the floor.  “I cannot, please…”

Kirk bent to grab Spockh.  “You haven’t eaten since I had McCoy feed you.”

Spockh moaned weakly.  “You are correct, but I cannot do as you wish.”

Sarek did not trust the change in Kirk’s voice when he spoke.  “Little one,” he purred at his son almost tenderly, “you’ll pass out if you don’t eat.”

His son’s voice began to shake.  “I am Vulcan.”  Amanda would have accepted this as an explanation whenever Spockh had arrived home with a bruise he did not have when he departed for his studies.  She accepted that her son sought to master the abundant emotions he had inherited from his parents.  That Spockh desperately tried to be more than Vulcan in order to keep himself from becoming what Sarek had made his half-brother, vrekasht.  This was an adequate explanation.  But it was clearly not enough for Kirk.  “Please, the pain, I…am Vulcan.”

“Fine,” Kirk snapped.  He didn’t even look as he slammed his dagger down on the table close to McCoy’s place.  “Come here.”  When Kirk fully stood again, Sarek saw that Spockh was held in the man’s arms.  His son was clearly weak and rapidly losing consciousness.  “Bones,” Kirk bit the word.  “Got one of those hypos?”  Without waiting for an answer, Kirk carried Spockh away from them and toward his sleeping alcove.  McCoy followed wordlessly, and took the dagger with him. 

Sarek shuddered as he heard the men shift the bedding and heard his son quietly moan in that darkened location.  It was most likely there that his son had lost his innocence by that man’s force.  Bile rose in his throat as he thought of Spockh held down on that bed, screaming during the assault, the human unconcerned about it.  He swallowed thickly.  He should not think of this.  He closed his eyes and saw Amanda’s terror when he claimed her.  Had Spockh worn the same expression?  McCoy said he had bled from the encounter.  How much damage had this monster done to his child? 

Rage, compromising uncontrollable rage, filled Sarek’s essence.  He rose from his chair, ignoring T’Pau softly calling his name, and strode to the room divider.  He froze when he saw his new mate holding Kirk firmly by the upper arm.  The two humans glared at each other.  Spockh’s body rested on the bed, his face turned away from the humans.  “I said ‘no,’ Jim.  Not for another two days.  He has to heal.”

Kirk shook McCoy’s hand away.  “I’ll do what I want with him because he’s mine.”  Kirk reached down with his other hand and gently ran his fingers through Spockh’s hair.  “Aren’t you, little Vulcan?”

“Yes,” Spockh exhaled the word. 

“See?” Kirk said to McCoy, a cruel smile on his face.  “He knows his place.  Perhaps I should remind you of yours, Doctor.”

McCoy stiffened at the threat.  He relaxed after several seconds of tense silence.  “You’re the captain.  But don’t blame me when you can’t use him anymore because you did too much damage that even I won’t be able to fix.” 

Sarek watched as Kirk continued to stroke Spockh’s hair as though he were a tamed sehlat.  “I take care of my toys.”  He stiffened at the objectifying term.  Kirk looked down upon Spockh.  “Especially rare ones like this.”  Then he seated himself on the edge of the bed, but his attention was on Spockh not McCoy.  “Dismissed, Doctor.  I’ll see all of you tomorrow when the Romulans arrive.”

McCoy turned and began to leave.  When he saw Sarek, he hesitated.  Sarek kept his gaze for a moment before turning it to his son, hoping his mate would understand his plea.  “Jim,” he said quietly. 

“I said dismissed, Bones.”

“Let him see his boy,” McCoy requested.  Kirk looked at his friend when he spoke.  “They haven’t seen each other since you took him away.  Let him see his boy.” 

Kirk turned to look at him then.  He must have seen something on Sarek’s expression to convince him to listen to McCoy.  “Five minutes, Vulcan.  That’s it.”

It took tremendous effort to speak politely, to sound grateful.  “I thank thee, Captain.”  By the time he’d finished the sentence, Kirk had already walked past him.  Sarek turned and saw that T’Pau had come to stand beside him.  He quickly touched his fingers to the back of her palm.  _Stay near Kirk. Listen to him._   She remained behind as Sarek walked to his son. 

“Spockh?” he called softly.  McCoy stayed there until Sarek had taken the place on the bed that Kirk had just vacated.  After he settled, McCoy walked away and gave them privacy.  “Sa-fu,” he choked on his voice.  “Sa-fu t’nash-veh.” 

He heard Spockh sigh.  “Please speak with me,” he tried again.  “Are you injured?”  Even after he said it, Sarek grimaced at the stupidity of the question.  Of course Spockh was injured.

“My nerves and my body have been subjected to electrical stimuli of high intensity,” Spockh confirmed.  “I may not currently bleed, but I have sustained injury.”  His son did not look at him.  Sarek did not know why. 

“Spockh,” Sarek began, suddenly unsure how his son would respond to what he was about to suggest.  He had every intention of doing this as he approached the sleeping area a minute ago, but now he needed to do this correctly.  So much of their culture had been lost with their planet.  He would do what he must to keep at least their rituals alive, even this one.  He lowered his voice to be certain it did not carry.  “I can perform tal-shaya on this man.”

“No!”

Spockh’s immediate response surprised Sarek.  “My son, he has harmed you…repeatedly.  As your father, I cannot bear to see you—”

“He did not wish to do so each time.”

Sarek did not understand.  He wanted to reach out to his son, to hold him as he had when Spockh had been a small child.  But he could not do so now.  Not here, likely not ever again.  “Yet he is cruel to you.”  His words were emotional.  But he knew that where his son was concerned, his logic fled from him.  His logic was uncertain. 

Spockh moaned softly as he shifted, but he still did not face him.  “I have met others of his crew.  One called Mitchell, Sulu, others…”  He sighed in resignation.  “Of all of them, Kirk has been the kindest.”

Sarek could not believe what he was hearing from his son’s voice.  “The least cruel of your captors does not equate to kindness.  This captain is not a kind man.”  He turned his son over.  He needed to see Spockh’s face.  “You must demand tal-shaya of me, sa-fu.”

Even in the dim lighting, Sarek could clearly see the shine of tears in Spockh’s eyes.  In Amanda’s eyes.  “To do so would condemn you to death. Father, I could never do that to you.”  A tear streaked his face across his temple into his hair.  “I make no such demand of you for it.”

Sarek reached for him then.  He no longer cared how emotional he seemed.  He touched his first two fingers to Spockh’s forehead as he had the previous day when he hoped Spockh would forgive him for the bargain he had made with Doctor McCoy.  Except this time, Sarek did not know if he did it to comfort Spockh or himself.  “Spockh, I cannot see you injured continuously like this for the rest of my days.”

Spockh struggled to turn over in the bed, away from him.  “Then, do not look upon me.” 

“Sarek,” McCoy called. 

He leaned forward over his son and whispered to him so that only Spockh could hear him.  “Do not think that you are anything other than precious to me.”  When Spockh had been born, Amanda had played with the point of his tiny ear.  It had been curled into itself, but with her urging it had unfurled like a plant seeking the nourishment of the sun.  Sarek had not understood her action at the time, chastising her for potentially harming their newborn.  But now, he did understand.  He understood the sentimentality, the emotion, the love for her new child in her gesture.  Sarek repeated her movements, and saw with an overwhelming ache in his core that Spockh leaned into his touch.  “Remain alive,” he begged. 

Spockh did not reply. 

Sarek rose and went to McCoy.  T’Pau stood at Kirk’s side.  Sarek immediately noticed that her separated bindings had been removed.  To do so required the captain or the first officer.  McCoy had told him that.  Kirk had freed her.  Was this a ruse?  If it were, Sarek refused to trust his son’s assailant.  “I hope your people are skilled,” Kirk said conversationally, as he approached him.  He took his arm and released him from his cuffs, talking as he moved to the other one.  “I’ll have my communications officers start teaching you people Imperial Standard tomorrow.  Apparently, making some Vulcans useful will benefit all of us.  So, you work for me, or I guess I’ll kill you.”

Sarek didn’t reply.  He did not trust this man.  He would likely never trust this man.  But he had his son.  Every instinct in him demanded that he kill Kirk for what he had done to Spockh, for what he would continue to do.  As McCoy led him from Kirk’s quarters with a light grip on his arm, Sarek had a revelation. 

He had a much clearer understanding of what Sybok had felt when he named Sarek murderer, and called for their combat.  For Sarek wanted nothing more than to bring Kirk to justice for his son’s treatment.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

  His smile remained even after Bones escorted the two Vulcans out of his quarters.  The male had a familiar tension about him that never failed to amuse him.  Maybe he should inform his little pet that his father did not intimidate him.  A captive and weaponless Vulcan was simple to handle compared to some people he’d dealt with.  A quick laugh escaped. 

He looked toward the bed, checking for any reaction from his Vulcan.  Nothing.  His laughter died.  He knew the Vulcan was pretending to be asleep.  No one can fall asleep in three seconds, not after having experienced the agony booth.  He looked so small and pathetic curled into himself on his bed.  Kirk picked up the bowl of roasted vegetables on the table and brought them into the sleeping alcove.  They were cold, but it was better than letting his Vulcan starve tonight.  He set it down on the shelf at the mesh divider. 

“Apparently, your father wants me dead.”  There it was.  A twitch in the Vulcan’s slender figure.  “I can tell by how he looked at me.  I’ve gotten that look a lot.”  That got his attention.  The Vulcan turned his head to gaze over his shoulder.  He was curious.  Kirk smiled at him, keeping his gaze locked on his Vulcan’s wide brown eyes as he began to undress for the night.  “People have that look when they try to assassinate me, or when they can’t handle the fact that I fucked their woman.  I’ve even had a woman try to kill me because I fucked her.” 

He unknotted the sash around his waist slowly.  “We once came across this crazy kid that had a ridiculous crush on my yeoman.  He tried wooing her the proper way, but that takes too long.”  The knot finally came undone.  “When he found out I fucked her already he tried to kill me, but I sent him out of an airlock.” 

Kirk toyed with the edge of the fabric as he spoke.  “Bones once managed to seduce the wife of one of his patients, a scientist, but he…didn’t make it.  I made sure of that.  Turned out Nancy wasn’t as dumb as we both thought.  She knew her husband didn’t die from his disease, but she blamed the wrong guy.  When I found her trying to kill McCoy I threw her in the brig.  The next planet we went to had these creatures that fed off of salt.”  He smiled in fond remembrance.  “I injected her with a paralytic and watched as that thing sucked her dry.” 

He allowed the gold sash to fall to the floor.  “But one of my favorites was Finnegan.  I killed his friend after he assaulted one of mine.  That didn’t sit too well with Finnegan.  He paid a visit to my girl while she was still in the hospital.  Bones was treating her.  He knocked out Bones to try to finish what his friend started with her.  He didn’t get much further than the foot of her bed before I put my blade in his throat.  She woke up right as he choked to death on his blood.”  He smirked, leaning toward the Vulcan – delighting in his widening eyes the closer he came – as he peeled off his gold shirt.  “Now, after all that, I’m going to tell you that I’m not about to let a Vulcan, one of my captives, kill me because he’s pissed off that I’m fucking his son.”

When the shirt joined the sash at his feet, he gently traced the alien’s jawline.  While he was not terribly tense, he could feel the fast pulse of the Vulcan in his bed.  Perhaps that had something to do with the hypo he’d given him to make him a little less resistant.  “Do you think you can eat something?”  The Vulcan – Spock, he corrected himself – looked terrified to answer honestly.  “I wanted you to eat a few minutes ago, but you said you couldn’t.”

“My pain has decreased.”

Kirk eyed him suspiciously.  “Because of the hypo?”

“It would seem highly likely that is the reason for the change in my desire for something to consume.”

“I brought you some of the vegetables from dinner.  If you had just stayed put and didn’t touch anything like a good little pet you would’ve been able to have it when it was hot.”  He cupped Spock’s cheek.  “But you were bad today.”

The Vulcan shook his head, not even trying to shake off Kirk’s hand.  “I was trying to help you.”

He dug his fingers into the flesh in his hand, his expression hardening.  “Until this alliance proves to be something useful to me, I’ll think of what you did as something against me.”  He leaned closer to him.  “Did I tell you you could use my ship’s system?”

“No.”

“Did I tell you I needed your help with anything—”  He licked his lips.  “Other than keeping me warm and spreading your legs when I tell you?”

Spock shuddered.  “No,” he whispered.  He closed his eyes. 

“Then what made you think you could do as you pleased on my ship?”

He saw the struggle in Spock to come up with an answer that wouldn’t get him punished.  He let him continue to think until only seconds later when it sounded like he was about to begin hyperventilating.  “At least you’re beginning to understand that you don’t make the rules here.  That’s something, I guess.”  The Vulcan’s distress was so intense, Kirk could almost feel it.  The room vibrated with the tension and fear.  He decided to get back to his main purpose.  “Can you sit up to eat?”  He watched him as he removed his boots.

Spock’s eyes latched onto him in complete confusion.  “I…I…yes.”

“Sit up,” he ordered, turning to fetch the vegetables.  He heard the Vulcan shuffling on the bed as he moved, occasionally hissing in pain.  He took the fork and speared the first vegetable, a carrot, and turned back to Spock.  Kirk waited for him to settle himself on the bed before he sat alongside him, facing the Vulcan.  He had to perch himself on the edge since the Vulcan barely gave him enough room.  If that was done deliberately, it didn’t work. 

Spock reached for the fork in Kirk’s hand, but Kirk retreated.  His action earned him a confused look.  “Why are you withholding it?”

“I need a few more answers from you.”  The Vulcan glared at him.  Kirk matched it.  “You get one bite when you answer one of my questions.”

Spock’s gaze flicked to the carrot on his fork.  “And if my answer is not one to your satisfaction?”

“If I don’t like your answer, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Kirk pretended to consider that possibility.  “We’ll find out.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow.  “Indeed.”

He held out the fork, offering the carrot.  After a moment, Spock understood and obediently opened his mouth.  Kirk fed him the carrot.  “What can you tell me about Sybok?”  He speared a mushroom and waited. 

“He is clever and dangerous.”  Kirk saw that Spock expected the mushroom, but he withdrew the offer of it.  “I have answered your question, captain,” Spock protested. 

“I didn’t like your answer.”  He ate the mushroom himself.  “I want to know what his weaknesses are.”

Spock didn’t hesitate.  “He has none.”

“Bullshit!”  Kirk gave Spock the red-skinned potato.  “I know he was banished, so from someone’s perspective he has at least one very big weakness, which I believe you know.”  He ate another mushroom.  “So, what’s his?”

Spock did hesitate that time.  “He defended his mother’s honor.”  He accepted the offered snow pea. 

“Defended?  What happened to her?”

“She was killed.”  Spock swallowed.  “Violently.  Sybok sought justice from the one he blamed for her death.”

Kirk’s interest grew.  “And who did he blame?”

Spock’s eyes were lowered.  He stalled by taking longer than necessary to chew his food.  As he swallowed he raised his eyes.  “My father.  Sarek and Sybok’s mother were once bonded.” 

This was unexpected.  “He killed his wife.”  Kirk wondered suddenly if Sarek would prove to be more dangerous of an opponent than he’d initially assumed.  He looked at Spock a little differently.  “So you and Sybok are—”

“Sybok is my brother.”  Spock shook his head.  “He is my half-brother.  We do not share the same mother.”

Kirk stared at Spock.  The Vulcan’s motivation for contacting him was instantly clearer.  Now, it began to make sense.  When he felt a soft touch on his chest, he realized how deep in thought he’d gone.  Spock had touched him.  Voluntarily.  He brought his focus back to what the Vulcan said.  “When I spoke to Sybok, I spoke of our arrangement between us, my father, and Doctor McCoy.  He understands it, and has sworn to contain his aggression towards you and your crew if he sees us – his family – uninjured.”  _A little late on that, little one._ “If that is evident,” Spock continued, “there will be no repercussions for you or the doctor.”

“Is that a threat?”  Clever and dangerous may have been an understatement.  “What the hell does he want in exchange?  He must want something.”

Spock did not speak for a moment.  “He only mentioned that he had a proposal for you.  He would not inform me of its details.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to prepare to meet this bastard if I have no idea what you blindly arranged?” 

Spock ducked his head, hesitating once more.  “I…”  He cleared his throat.  “I could assist you in this meeting.  I have more experience in dealing with Sybok.  Perhaps you would be wise to listen to me, to let me speak to him when he arrives.”

Inwardly, he seethed.  Kirk would rather end up in a phaser fight in a conference room than give Spock the authority to take charge of this foolishly arranged meeting.  Outwardly, he put on the face of a man considering Spock’s offer.  He leaned far to the right to set the empty dish and its fork onto the ledge by the divider.  When he straightened, he looked at Spock, flashed him a gentle smile and kissed the Vulcan.  “You know,” he began in a soft hum, running his hands up Spock’s arms.  “For a moment, I almost let you win.”  He planted his hands on the Vulcan’s chest and pushed him hard, knocking both breath and resistance from him with the impact.  Spock looked at him through widened eyes as he set to work on removing the Vulcan’s pants. 

“It is not,” Spock gasped through his lack of air.  “—about winning!”

“You have a lot to learn about my Empire, little one.”  They were undone, and he yanked them roughly off of Spock’s body, swatting away the Vulcan’s hands when he tried to stop him.  “How about we start with this room?”  Kirk tossed the pants away, somehow managing to wrestle Spock’s legs around his waist.  He knew that if the Vulcan hadn’t gotten his hypo, he’d have much more difficulty with this task.  He planned to keep him drugged like this until he learned to like his attentions.  Kirk grabbed Spock’s thighs and held them against his body, anchoring them both.  “When we’re in here, you and me, you’re damn lucky I let you talk so much.  You need to learn to shut those pretty lips outside of this room.” 

Kirk drove forward and crashed their mouths together.  When they separated, Kirk’s lips didn’t stray far from Spock’s mouth.  He continued kissing him between phrases.  “I’ll make sure you’re okay, because you’re mine.”  He kissed him again, keeping them together until the need to breathe forced him away.  “And I like what’s mine to be healthy.”  He smiled.  “I don’t care if you’re happy, but as long as you’re mine you eat, you drink—”  This time he realized that Spock’s lips moved against his; the Vulcan was kissing him in return.  “And you obey me.”

Spock’s head fell back onto the pillow.  Kirk attacked his jaw with his lips.  “Do that and I won’t kill you.”

“Unless,” Spock began, trying to find his voice among his gasping breaths.  “I try to kill you, or I betray you, or I—”  He keened when Kirk mouthed the accelerated pulse in his neck.  “—stop pleasing you.”

“Then don’t stop kissing me back.” 

“Yes, Captain,” Spock sighed. 

He spent a little more time worrying Spock’s neck.  Then, he realized where his bedmate must have gotten that advice, and Kirk laughed against Spock’s skin.  “McCoy really needs to learn to shut up.”  With a smile still stretching his lips, he kissed the Vulcan.  He grabbed a handful of the shirt’s fabric at his Vulcan’s chest and pulled him upright, their mouths still together.  Spock grabbed onto his shoulders to steady himself.  “One more thing,” Kirk said as soon as he broke their kiss.  “You will never wear anything in my bed again.” 

With one movement, he pulled the shirt up and off Spock’s body, baring his figure to him as fully as the previous night.  He let the shirt fall from his fingers off the side of the bed.  Spock’s breathing was labored, his lips swollen from Kirk’s kisses, and his skin flushed a pale green.  He dove at him, gripping Spock’s shoulder and using that pressure to send him onto his back.  He followed the descent with his lips, crushing the Vulcan beneath his body, grinding his hardness against his overheating body.  He could feel Spock shaking under him. 

He found a rhythm against his pelvis, one hand reaching down to firmly clasp one of the Vulcan’s legs to him, aggravated with the clothing between their lengths.  _I’ll fuck him if I take these off.  Can’t yet._   It only spurred him harder and faster, desperate to come.  He felt one of Spock’s hands curl around the muscles of his upper arm.  “God, I wanna fuck you.”  He could barely speak. 

He fast approached release when he heard Spock’s hitching breaths beneath him.  He opened his eyes, until that moment not even knowing he’d closed them, to see that the Vulcan had pulled his lower lip between his teeth to stifle his own noises.  He reached down, grasping Spock’s hipbones.  With a tug, Kirk changed their angle and he felt a firmness reflecting his own there.  He moaned as he ground his own clothed erection against what he knew was the Vulcan’s arousal.  Spock met his gaze, horrified and embarrassed by his body’s reaction.  When he closed his eyes again, moisture slipped free.  “Don’t cry, little one,” he whispered as he exhaled. 

Kirk rocked their bodies together, not faltering when Spock failed in silencing himself.  The tiny cut off moans brought him to the brink.  He dove forward, waiting for another.  As soon as those lips parted, Kirk stole the moan from his throat, hoping it would disguise his own as he stiffened and fell against his trembling Vulcan. 


	12. Summon the Future

He dreamt of the desert, the heat of the air, the delicate structure of the sand as he watched it slip between his fingers.  He could even smell the landscape.  A low sound caught his hearing and he turned to face its source.  He saw him, his father’s domesticated sehlat that had become his own after he had passed his kahs-wan trial – the test that determined his place in his people’s society. 

He had been named a Scholar, though it had disappointed his father, who had hoped he would be named among the Warriors.  Sarek had reassured him that it was possible to change his caste to the Warriors, but the request to do so was rarely granted.  It had only been permitted in Sarek’s case on the death of his brother.  The matriarch maintained highest authority over the bloodline, but it was the eldest male heir that must hold the position of Warrior.  He must defend his blood’s honor, and that could only occur with a Warrior’s authority.  And it came to be that Sarek changed his caste from Scholar to Warrior, though his trial had not been without difficulty.  He had been forced to endure an adult version of the kahs-wan, one much more demanding than that of the children.  It had been a test that had nearly cost Sarek his life, but he had completed it, and his caste had changed. 

Spockh had been ashamed of himself – as Sarek’s only named male heir after his half-brother’s exile – to be named among the Scholars.  His father rebelled against the strict teachings of the Vulcan people, however, and had taught his son the basic combative skill of a Warrior, hoping that Spockh would one day appeal for a change in status.  That day had not come.

Spockh approached the immense form of the sehlat, now grown sedentary with age.  His golden eyes stared at him curiously, making him wonder if the animal could even recognize him.  He reached out to him, intending to stroke his dense fur, but the sehlat withdrew from his hand, producing a sound most unusual for a sehlat.

It was a high-pitched chirping sound.  Sehlats were incapable of such a noise.

Spockh opened his eyes as he was jostled in his sleep.  A moment later, the heat that must have induced his dream of his now destroyed homeworld left him, rolling to the side and away from him with a soft groan.  Spockh unintentionally stroked his hand across his bedmate’s chest with the movement.  Then he remembered where he rested. 

“Kirk here.”

Spockh desperately tried to control his body’s reaction to his recognition of his surroundings.  He did not wish for the man to know he had regained consciousness.  If he knew, Kirk would most likely rut against him again, force his kisses on his skin.  He felt his shaking begin, but only just.  He reigned in his control as much as he could by summoning every teaching he could to bring himself to relaxed stillness.  He refused to make a sound.

“You do realize what an impossible assignment you’ve given me, _Captain._ ”  It was a female.  Spockh did not know this voice.  He had not encountered many people at all aboard Kirk’s ship, and those that he had he did not look forward to encountering again soon.  That a woman would speak this way to the captain was impressive. 

Kirk turned in the bed, and relaxed on his back.  As soon as he moved, Spockh closed his eyes, hoping it would convince him that he remained asleep.  He knew his breathing was not completely regulated for his normal sleeping rhythm, but he hoped that Kirk would be too distracted by his conversation to notice that small defect in his ruse.  “There’s no one in this entire Empire that can teach our language to these Vulcans like you could.” 

“I appreciate the confidence, _sir_.” 

“Uhura, you’re the only one who can do it.”

The name seemed much more exotic than those he had encountered up to now.  Kirk had turned now to face him.  Spockh could feel his breath on his bare skin. 

“And how do you propose I do this?  They will have to be separated.”

As she spoke, Spockh felt the lightest of touches against the back of his hand, the one that had been dragged across Kirk’s chest during the human’s movement.  Kirk touched him softly, running his fingers slowly, delicately over his knuckles and along the length of his first three fingers.  Spockh knew that Kirk was testing him, and that he was failing it.  He heard his own breath catch even as he lifted his fingers in response to Kirk’s touch, seeking to keep that irresistible contact, chasing the pleasure he had been given.  He heard Kirk’s uneven and excited exhale at his response. 

A moment later, Kirk removed himself from the bed, his voice low as he continued his conversation with the Uhura woman.  “I agree.”  Spockh heard him moving around the room, coming to a halt at where he recalled as the location of the food dispenser from which he had unsuccessfully tried to summon a glass of water.  It sounded as though Kirk was fussing with its mechanics than actually requesting sustenance.  Spockh chanced opening his eyes to investigate.  There stood Kirk, already with the front panel of the console in one hand, as he bent to look at its wiring within.  Apparently, this young captain had skill in computer devices.  Spockh felt a fleeting desire to join him and to learn about the inner workings of the food console.  He knew it would stimulate his mind, remove him from the hopeless and oppressive situation in which he would remain indefinitely.  But should he announce his wakefulness to Kirk, he doubted that he would allow him to explore the mechanics and systems of the device.  He would likely only be returned to this bed with the human on top of him again.  He shuddered, though desperately staying silent. 

“Report to Sickbay.  I want you to work with McCoy and T’Ping.”  Spockh grimaced at the mispronunciation. 

“Who’s T’Ping?”

Kirk continued his tinkering with the console.  Spockh watched him attentively.  If he could not learn firsthand, perhaps he could learn through observation.  “Some Vulcan woman.  She’s a doctor, so she’ll probably be around McCoy anyway.  Dark hair, tall, pretty.”  He gasped as something sparked and shook his hand, reacting to a small burn.  It did not seem threatening since he recovered in seconds.  “Anyway,” he continued.  “She made a census or something.  Use that to separate the Vulcans into groups you can manage.  She already speaks Standard, so have her help you.”  He put his communicator down on the shelving unit above the machine on which he worked.  Now both of his hands were free.  “I’ll meet you there soon.  I’m working on something.”

Spockh’s view of the machine became nonexistent when Kirk shifted his position to stand directly in front of it.  Unless he wished to observe the man’s physique, there was nothing left for him to observe.  He resettled himself in the bed and closed his eyes, the sounds of Kirk’s voice and his tinkering fading as he drifted into sleep. 

A soft touch that traced his jawline coaxed him awake.  The contact felt as gentle as the one that had been bestowed to his fingers earlier.  He opened his eyes for the second time that morning to look up at the soft smile of Captain Kirk.  “Wake up, little one.”  He blinked as Kirk repeated the caress, trying to grow alert so that the man did not catch him unawares and pin him down for another unbearable session of the human’s pleasure and his humiliation. 

As he had the thought, Kirk’s smile faded.  He withdrew his soft touch and instead offered his hand to Spockh.  “Come with me.”  Spockh questioned his own sanity as he slowly placed his hand into that which Kirk offered.  But once the contact was established, Kirk closed his hand tightly around his and urged him to rise from the bed.  Spockh felt the bedding around him slide from his naked body as he was brought to his feet.  The chill of the room registered immediately and he shivered, unable to contain his gasp at the temperature difference. 

Kirk did not lead him anywhere, but faced him directly.  He maintained his grip on Spockh’s hand, but he used his free hand to explore him.  He began with curling his fingers around the left side of Spockh’s throat, yet he never increased that grip or attempted to choke him as he had in the past.  He simply rested his hand there.  Spockh’s silence and stillness must have been encouragement to Kirk.  The man’s smile returned as he began to wander in his touch, slowly running his hand over the left side of Spockh’s clavicle, and down to his chest where it remained a moment.  Spockh watched as Kirk’s expression shifted.  It took him a moment to recognize it as confusion.  Spockh brought their joined hands to his lower right side, where he pressed Kirk’s hand to his skin.  Kirk looked down at their hands, but Spockh watched his face.  A moment later Kirk met his gaze again.  “It’s in your side.” 

“Yes,” Spockh whispered. 

Kirk’s right hand ran along his ribs, and then went along his side, feeling his waist and coming to rest firmly at his hipbone.  With a hint of pressure digging into his hip, Spockh found himself pulled closer to Kirk, who eyed him as though he were his prey.  Spockh shivered again, though not from the temperature this time.  Their bodies did not meet, but they stood with little distance between them.  Spockh watched Kirk swallow.  “You’re beautiful, Spock.”  Spockh said nothing.  What did Kirk want him to say?  Apparently, his lack of vocal response was incorrect. 

Kirk sighed, then licked his lips quickly.  “Touch me.”  Spockh did not know what to do.  Was it a request?  A command?  Perhaps it was a plea.  Spockh brought his left hand up, but then hesitated, unsure where he should touch first.  What if he displeased Kirk?  What if he chose somewhere that the man did not enjoy being touched?  How was he to know that?  “Wherever you like,” Kirk said, as though he understood the reason for Spockh’s hesitancy. 

He took a deep breath before he touched Kirk.  He recalled that he had reacted violently to his neck being touched by him.  He suspected it was because Kirk still remembered that Spockh could render him unconscious with the neck pinch.  Yet, for the time being, Kirk had not conducted himself in a hostile manner.  Perhaps he should not provoke him.  Spockh allowed his hand to go lower, resting finally at the hollow at the base of Kirk’s throat.  He could feel his breathing, his swallowing. It was a curious sensation. 

Kirk watched him closely, still gazing at him like he was some sort of prize that he’d won.  Spockh ignored it.  He slid his hand to the same place that Kirk had gone for his heartbeat, knowing for certain that he would find the human’s there.  After all, his mother had been human.  He was more familiar with basic human anatomy than Kirk was of Vulcans.  The steady rhythm he felt through Kirk’s skin confirmed it.  His heart did not beat in the same tempo as his own, but it did not matter.  When he looked back to Kirk’s eyes, Spockh noticed that they had softened considerably, and that the human’s lips were curved in a gentle smile. 

Kirk broke the calm moment between them by speaking.  “I have something to show you.”  With his hand still at his hip, Kirk directed Spockh to go to the console on which he had been working while speaking with Uhura.  He touched several key commands until a screen in Standard displayed several options.  At first, Spockh had no idea what he was meant to see.  It was only after Kirk scrolled through twenty-one items that he realized it. 

“None of these dishes contain meat.” 

“Pick one.”  Although Kirk did not confirm or deny Spockh’s observation, he still knew that he was correct in his statement.  This menu contained all vegetarian options.  Kirk had reprogrammed them into the device while he slept.  Spockh did not know how to react to this unexpected kindness from this man who had hurt and abused him since his arrival aboard the ship.  In his deliberation and emotional confusion, he failed to notice that Kirk had come to stand behind him until he placed his hands on both of Spockh’s shoulders, and felt the man’s lips touch the base of his neck.  “I couldn’t program your voice into it for recognition with you sleeping,” he said against his skin.  With his grip on Spockh’s shoulders, Kirk brought him back flush against him before winding his arms around him, trapping Spockh against his warmer chest.  “So, it still needs mine.”  Spockh thought it a convenient excuse for keeping his meals under the captain’s control.  A moment later, his suspicion was confirmed.  “Besides, by denying your voice authority to it, I know you won’t try to poison yourself or something and try to eat something that makes you sick.  But if you behave, I might be willing to change that.”  Kirk released him.  “Go on, pick one.”

Spockh heard Kirk walk away from him, back into the sleeping area of his quarters.  He barely looked at the items listed on the screen in favor of listening to the man’s actions.  He heard him sit on the bed, followed by the sound of fabric sliding.  It took him a moment to realize that Kirk was dressing for the day.  If he were preparing to leave these rooms, then it was likely that Spockh would be left alone here.  He should choose a meal, anything, even something small before the captain left him.  If he did not do so now, he did not know when he would next have the opportunity to eat.  He selected a small bowl of berries, and tea.  He recalled that Doctor McCoy had provided him with something similar.  The thought brought him to stillness.  Did the doctor have the authority to activate this console?  He must, otherwise, he would not have been able to feed him when he healed him. 

“Voice activation required,” a male voice said from the console.  Spockh recalled this.  His voice did not work, and it had turned the machine an angry red until he had retreated far enough away from it.  He had been forced to fetch water from the fresher.  At least he would be able to get that. 

“Kirk, James T.,” the captain provided to the machine.

The console turned green and the door slid aside to reveal what Spockh had selected.  Hoping that this was not some sort of cruel trick on Kirk’s part, he quickly snatched the items from the device and held them to himself protectively.  He could not eat standing.  He closed his eyes in defeat as he made his way to the table, setting his breakfast down gently.  Knowing it would be uncomfortable, Spockh lowered himself to sit in the chair anyway.  As his skin contacted the cold surface, he gasped and shivered.  His nudity became unbearable.  He forced his humiliation away as he spoke.  “Captain, may I dress?”

He saw Kirk appear beside the divider that separated the two areas of his quarters, sweeping his gaze over his body before licking his lips quickly.  He was fully dressed, his weapons and comm device at his sash, the material shining even in the dim lighting.  “Not yet.”

What else could Kirk possibly wish from him?  The captain had already demonstrated his power over his body, denied him access to food, and now Kirk’s mission was to degrade him by denying him clothing.  Spockh already understood his position according to the captain.  Did the man wish to take everything from him?  Spockh ground his teeth.  “Please,” he begged.  As soon as he said it, Kirk revealed what he had hidden behind his back – a small bundle of clothing.  Spockh could not disguise his disgust both at himself and at Kirk for succeeding in getting Spockh to beg for his basic needs. 

Kirk offered him trousers, but he did not move closer to him.  Spockh rose and went to Kirk, taking the garment and stepping into them, knowing how they would likely fit him from his experience wearing Kirk’s clothing the previous day.  Would he ever be provided clothing that fit him properly?  At this rate, he doubted it.  He bent down at the waist enough to enable him to pull them up in order to secure them to his body.  When he felt a hand in his hair, Spockh went rigid.  He heard Kirk sigh softly above him, as he brought his other hand into Spockh’s hair.  The man tugged gently and Spockh stood, fastened the trousers, and stared at Kirk.  He hoped the human could clearly see his anger regarding this treatment.  Kirk only smiled at him. 

Spockh waited until the grip on his hair lessened before he moved to snatch the shirt from where it was draped over Kirk’s shoulder.  But Kirk grabbed his arms and spun him around to lead him back to the table where his meal waited.  “Eat,” he commanded.  Kirk pressed him into the chair by pushing down on his shoulders.  Once he was seated, Spockh obeyed Kirk’s order and began to slowly eat his berries, one at a time so as not to choke on his swallowed pride.  Kirk’s hands did not remain still.  They slid over his shoulders, down over his chest, back up to rest on his collarbone, then back to his shoulders.  It was rhythmic and fluid.  He felt his muscles tighten with each repetition.  The rate at which he ate his berries slowed, and he had barely sipped his tea.

“You’re so tense, Spock.  Relax.”  Kirk set to work on kneading Spockh’s shoulders, trying to soothe away the tension that he had caused.  “Keep eating, just relax,” he urged.  Spockh forced the berry down his throat as he obeyed the command.  In the silence, Spockh struggled to eat while Kirk continued in his liberties with his body.  Spockh had almost finished his tea by the time Kirk came closer to him so that he could press his lips to Spockh’s shoulder blade.  He worked his way up his neck until he reached his ear, into which he whispered softly.  “I need you to be perfect today.” 

“Why should I strive for what you consider perfect behavior when there is nothing you are willing to give that could possibly induce me to comply with your demand?” 

Spockh felt him laugh against his skin.  “I would have thought your life and your safety were enough.”  Kirk breathed against the shell of his ear, and Spockh was powerless to stop from quivering from the sensation of it.  “If you behave, I’ll reward you afterwards.” 

“Indeed?  How?”

Kirk kissed him just behind his ear, but did not move.  When he spoke, Spockh felt the captain’s breath against the saliva on his skin, and he trembled in Kirk’s firm grip on his shoulders.  There was no way the human did not notice his reactions.  “Well, of course I’d rather do something else to you, but—”  He snaked a hand down Spockh’s arm until he tangled their fingers, pressing against them, all the while continuing his attentions with his lips.  “—I think you’d appreciate my restraint if you knew what I really wanted to do.”

 

_Kirk hauled him from the chair and forced him forward so that his upper body rested on the table before them.  He held Spock in place by his forearm across his back, as he struggled in his excitement and desperation to expose himself one-handed.  He growled when he succeeded.  A moment later, he pressed the Vulcan down on the table with his own body, leaving his hands free to tear his trousers away from him.  He shook with arousal as the pinned Vulcan shivered beneath his body.  “I want you,” Kirk groaned into his neck, as he took himself in hand, guided himself to Spock’s entrance.  “I want you so much.”  And then he thrust hard._

Spockh gasped.  He was still seated.  It had not happened.  Was that what Kirk really wanted to do to him?  Even the night he had been taken the captain had progressed less violently or roughly than what he had just seen in his mind.  Kirk may desire that event, but Spockh knew that he certainly did not find the situation desirable.  But he still remained in the chair.  It had not occurred.  

As Kirk continued to mouth his neck, Spockh reached up to grab the man’s hair to remove him.  The lighter-colored hair slipped through his fingers as Kirk readjusted his angle, obviously saw his intention, and captured his wrist with his hand.  “If you don’t want it easy I can always work with that, little one.”  Kirk tangled his other hand into his hair and yanked his head backward so that he stared up at him.  Spockh gasped at the treatment of his still tender scalp.  “I’m offering you something less vigorous than what I really want from you.  Do you understand that?”

“What is it that you wish me to do?”

“I want you to be perfect when I meet that damn Romulan today.  And the Vulcan you talked to.  You have to be perfect for me.”  Kirk’s body tensed in frustrated rage. 

The alternative could only mean pain, further disgrace, or death – none of which Spockh had any desire to endure.  He had no choice but to agree, to comply, and to obey this man.  Spockh barely managed to nod with the captain’s hand clenched in his hair, but it must have been enough.  With a harsh gasp that seemed torn from his throat, Kirk released him and threw him against the table.  Spockh heard him flee into the sleeping area.  He gripped the edge, desperate to keep his meal in his stomach, as he struggled to regain control. 

He did not know how long he stayed there, but in too little time Kirk returned.  His step had slowed and lightened.  Kirk stopped when there was still more than an arm’s span between them.  “Spock, I—”

“As you wish,” Spockh spoke through his emotional turmoil. 

Silently, Kirk took his forearms and brought him to his feet.  Spockh did not wish to look at him, could not look at him.  Kirk offered him the black shirt like the one he had worn the previous day.  Spockh wordlessly accepted it and jerked it onto his body, pulling the lower hem to cover as much skin as the garment would permit.  “Spock,” Kirk whispered again. “I—”

He looked at him then, seeing a sort of vulnerability in him that he had never yet seen.  Spockh felt his emotions explode within him, demanding release.  For the first time in his life, he did not even attempt to suppress them.  He could endure it no more.  Spockh stood tall as he unleashed his agony on the man standing before him.  “I have informed you that I will do as you wish me to do.  What else can you possibly desire of me?”  Kirk’s eyes darted up to meet his, the ice in them all but gone.  “You have abused me, hurt me, tortured me, denied me sustenance, clothing, and have treated me as nothing more than a vessel for your lust and frustration.  I have not attempted to harm you in return for this treatment, but have instead attempted to placate you.  I have not resisted you, and I do as you ask, even that which I find entirely undesirable, and yet this is how you choose to reward my obedience.  So, I ask again, what incentive is there for me to obey you?”  He took a step closer to the man, hoping he would understand the gravity of what he next said.  “Only last night my father offered to give me your life in retaliation for your actions against me.”  He saw Kirk’s alarm, saw him tense as though expecting an attack.  Spockh ignored it.  “I refused his offer and I wish now that I had not.” 

Kirk’s face twisted, and he reached for him.  “Spock—”

Spockh reacted without thinking.  He struck the approaching limb away.  As soon as he heard the contact, he knew that he had potentially made a terrible mistake.  He flung himself away, backwards until he felt his body pressed against the wall.  When Kirk looked at him, Spockh saw his own shock mirrored on the human’s face.  A moment after their eyes met, Kirk came at him, but Spockh shrank from him, raising his arms to protect his skull.  “Please, Captain, don’t!  I—”

With a gentleness he would never have expected after striking the man, Kirk took hold of his arms.  Spockh resisted Kirk’s feeble urging for him to lower his arms from in front of his face.  He feared he would be sent to the floor for his actions, beaten into submission, or sent back to that terrible chamber.  Kirk sighed as Spockh allowed the man to lower his arms only enough to make eye contact, but he kept them raised between them.  He did not wish to be injured.  Kirk spoke but his voice lacked the menace it usually contained when his temper had been riled.  “What did I tell you to call me when we’re alone?” Spockh stared at him in disbelief and distrust.  Was this a trick?  He had expected Kirk’s first response to be a threat or further abuse, not a seemingly unconnected question.  He must be trying to distract him, to get Spockh to believe he would not harm him.  He had no intention of being so foolish.  He did not answer. 

Kirk released him, with a soft sigh, but he did not back away.  Instead, the man reached around his captive’s waist.  Spockh felt the slide of fabric come around him.  He dared not lower his arms yet, not until Kirk stood a safe distance from him.  But he watched as Kirk silently began to fasten a gold sash around his waist.  It was identical to the one Kirk wore.  “James,” the man said so quietly that Spockh could not be certain of hearing him.  “I told you to call me James.”  Spockh, with his arms still raised up, watched attentively as Kirk finishing tying the knot in the gold fabric at his waist.  

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“You are correct, Doctor,” confirmed T’Pring at McCoy’s right.  “There are four divisions of my people.  I am among the Healers.” 

The odd group gathered around a padd and studied the data of the census T’Pring had created.  At the young communications officer’s request she had reorganized the data by caste, to make the proposed separation easier.  “Where can we possibly keep all of you if we separate you by your division?” the Terran woman asked. 

At that moment, Sarek ceased observing and voiced his opinion.  “I would recommend confining the Warriors to the brig.”  He saw McCoy glance at him out the corner of his eye in surprise.  “They will then be of no threat to your captain or crew.  If it were to comfort you further, I would also advise keeping them restrained in their bindings.” 

McCoy turned to face him directly.  “Wait a minute, aren’t you one of the Warriors?”

He met his new mate’s confused gaze evenly.  “I am.”

McCoy frowned.  “Well, I don’t really like the idea of locking you up in the brig considering I just got hitched to you.”

Sarek noted the reaction of the young woman, Lieutenant Uhura as she had introduced herself.  She looked at McCoy in barely concealed surprise.  Apparently, news of the relationships of others aboard this ship did not travel quickly.  This could be an advantageous point to consider in the future.  “I would not wish to be viewed by my people as receiving what I believe you would describe as special treatment.” 

His mate huffed at him.  “I can make up a reason to keep you here, make you sick or something as an excuse to keep you around my Sickbay.”

“Am I to be a test subject?”

At that teasing, McCoy bristled where he stood.  “Listen, Sarek, right now, you’re one of the few allies I have on this ship.  I’d rather keep you close.” 

“Okay, so Warriors go to the brig in their cuffs,” interrupted Uhura, drawing Sarek’s attention back to the matter at hand.  “What about the Healers, Scholars, and the Young?’

As they all gathered again around the padd display, Sarek heard McCoy mumble under his breath, “Don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about it.”  Sarek allowed the corner of his mouth to rise just enough to be perceptible to a Vulcan’s close scrutiny.  It was certainly relieving to know that his new mate wanted him in his presence.  At least this human was kinder than the monster his son had been forced into serving.  Sarek banished these darker thoughts and returned his focus on the subject of the relocation and separation of his people. 

“Perhaps the Healers may remain in or near this Medical area?” suggested T’Pring to McCoy.  “There are many of us who still require the services of a Healer to repair their minds from the loss of their bondmates, offspring, and other kin.  Also, from what I have seen and heard of my cousin-by-bonding’s treatment from the captain of this vessel, it is not without just cause that I predict that the likelihood of Vulcans requiring medical treatment after interacting with members of this crew as a certainty.” 

T’Pring had stated it clinically, and without accusation in her voice.  Sarek did not know if he could have done the same.  Perhaps it was because Sarek knew himself to be emotionally compromised about Spockh’s situation.  Again, he banished these thoughts from his mind. 

McCoy nodded.  “I’ll try to figure out a way to keep most of the Healers around this area.” 

Uhura made a notation on the padd, before bringing up the next section.  “Scholars.”

“What about something like the briefing rooms?  We have about six of them, don’t we?”

Uhura tapped on the padd for several seconds before she nodded in agreement with McCoy’s suggestion.  “Probably enough to contain a high percentage of them.” 

“Is it possible to arrange for some sort of minimal bedding for them in those rooms?” asked Sarek.  The decks of the ship were not conducive to decent sleep or meditation. 

“We can try for something, but it will probably be very little,” Uhura said. 

“It’d probably stay very little, too,” McCoy added.  “I doubt that comfort for you people is the first thing on the captain’s mind right now.”  Sarek closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose.  Comfort had not been a priority for Kirk even with Spockh, the one among his people toward whom he chose to give his unwanted attentions.  He had repeatedly caused Spockh pain, so why would he concern himself with the comfort of others?  Sarek had to agree with McCoy. 

“My people do not require extensive sleep, Doctor,” T’Pring stated.  “More than that, we require time to meditate.”

“Meditate?” Uhura asked. 

T’Pring nodded.  “It allows us to process our experiences between either sleep or additional meditative cycles, thus reviving us to peak functioning conditions.” 

“Okay, so Scholars will go to a few briefing rooms,” McCoy agreed, once again getting their small group back on topic.  “That just leaves—”

“The Young,” finished Sarek. 

“Put them in the rec rooms,” advised a new voice behind them.  Sarek recognized it before he turned with everyone else to face the voice’s identity.  Captain Kirk.  He wore an arrogant smile.  “They aren’t really used much anyway.”

The captain and his son had the attention of nearly everyone in the Medical Bay.  After a moment, Sarek could make out the phrase that his niece had brought to his attention days ago.  “Guv-kafeh t’khart-lan.”  The Captain’s sex slave.  The Captain’s whore.  That is how his people now described Spockh, ever since his son’s near public rape on one of the biobeds on the day they all lost their home.  Sarek’s gaze went to that biobed. 

 

_“Please—” he heard his son choke._

_The captain had forced his son’s trousers down to expose his entrance.  “My turn.”  Sarek looked again at the human beside him, who was watching what was happening with a blank expression that would have rivaled the most controlled Vulcan.  He looked back to his son and his soon-to-be rapist.  “Please, don’t—”_

_“I accept your proposition.”_

 

Sarek did not regret agreeing to the bargain that McCoy had proposed to him for his own sake, but he certainly regretted the fate he had brought to his child.  The pain and humiliation he knew Spockh must be enduring in Kirk’s presence.  How did he bear it?  Surely he heard the whispers that followed the two of them as they walked towards his small group.  He noticed that Spockh walked at precisely one step behind Kirk.  In deference to his authority?  Or was it something else? 

“Guv-kafeh t’khart-lan,” some whispered.  Others simply said, “Viltah.” 

Sarek remembered the term as one that his son had endured since he had been a small child.  Spockh had been trailed by several male children that took their lessons with him.  They followed him to the edge of Sarek’s property, but even in the distance between his property line and the entrance to their home, where Amanda waited for their son, the calls of “viltah” and “sa-fu t’svik” were clearly audible.  Only after the door had closed and Amanda sat with their son drinking their favorite tea did Spockh reveal in his expression how deeply the words of those boys affected him.  And for that alone Sarek had been proud.  The entire household knew what they meant.  The insult “viltah” was a slur against Spockh’s mixed heritage, loosely meaning mutt, half-breed, mongrel.  Spockh had boldly informed his mother that he could not be insulted by the term because it accurately described him.  He was indeed a child of mixed heritage, a half-breed.  But neither Sarek nor Amanda thought their son deserved to have it spoken as an insult.  Oftentimes, Sarek would end up consoling Amanda in her tears that their son refused to shed for himself. 

The other shouted phrase, “sa-fu t’svik,” meant something much more damning.  Traitor’s Son. 

Since his disastrous pon farr in which he had claimed his new slave, Amanda Grayson, as his mate he had been forever afterward named Svik t’Vuhlkansu, Vulcan Traitor.  The phrase followed him wherever he had gone publicly.  Once his bondmate’s identity had been discovered, the Vulcan people extended their animosity and loathing onto her as well.  “Guv-kafeh t’svik” she had been called.  Traitor’s whore.  Those with a percentage more politeness would instead label Amanda as “Ko-telsu t’svik.”  Traitor’s bondmate.  It did not matter, though, to Sarek or Amanda.  Each insult inflicted pain as they had been designed to do.  But she had endured them all with a strength that surprised Sarek and filled him with pride for his mate.  She had been incredibly strong for a human. 

As Sarek looked at their son, it became clear to him that her eyes were not the only trait Amanda had passed to Spockh.  He knew that their child would need her strength for the rest of his life. 

Spockh did not appear injured this morning.  Instead, he appeared quite well, though more submissive to the captain than Sarek had previously observed.  Spockh kept his gaze to the floor and his expression neutrally void of all emotion.  Sarek stepped away from the group discussing the Vulcan castes and approached his son where he stood just behind Kirk.  The captain had now joined the conversation he had just left. 

“Sa-fu, tu muhl?” he asked.  He spoke their language deliberately, hoping his son would understand that he wished to speak to him as privately as possible.

“I am functional, Father,” Spockh replied.  His gaze went briefly to Kirk before he looked back to Sarek.  He sighed, understanding that to converse in Vulcan could not be an option at the moment.  He found himself illogically wishing that they did not have to speak Standard. 

“Has he harmed you since last night?”

Spockh lowered his head.  “He may tonight.”  Sarek followed his gaze, noticing suddenly that his son now wore a golden sash around his waist, the knot offset over his right hipbone.  The captain wore the same.  Was it a way for the human to silently and openly mark Spockh as his property alone?  As only his to abuse, or to force sexually?  Sarek looked at the back of Kirk’s head, feeling the murderous urge in him to simply reach for the man’s neck and apply the pressure that would break it and kill him.  “No, Father,” Spockh commanded. 

He faced his son again, his rage still present.  “He will rape you tonight. I cannot—”

Spockh shook his head and interrupted him.  “He plans to use me tonight.  I do not know his…explicit plans for me.”  Sarek shook his head, denying his son’s apathy to himself.  “Father, I will endure this. It—”

Sarek could hear no more of his son’s acceptance of his abuser’s imminent cruelty.  He whirled to Kirk, but as he began to raise his hand to snap the man’s neck he felt pressure at his lower right side.  He froze where he stood, and stared at the pleased grin of the captain.  “Don’t do anything stupid, Vulcan.”  Then, Sarek felt agony at his heart.  He would have fallen to his knees had it not been for McCoy grabbing him by the arm and keeping him on his feet. 

“Stop it, Jim!” McCoy hissed.  Kirk did, but Sarek still felt pain in his side even after the tiny device found its way back to Kirk’s belt. 

“Consider that a warning,” Kirk said to him, standing tall and thus forcing Sarek to look up at him.  “My little Vulcan told me you offered to kill me for him.”  He slid his arm around Spockh’s waist and brought them together.  Sarek saw his son’s pity and he hated it.  “I repeat my offer to you:  Your people work for me or you die.” 

Sarek leaned on McCoy, who ironically supported him when his son refused.  Had he lost his child to this man completely?  The thought hurt him more than he could bear.  Losing Amanda had devastated him.  But to lose his son would break him.  “Understood,” he whispered. 

“Understood, what?” the hardness in his voice made it clear what Kirk wanted.

“Captain.”  He looked to his son and saw overwhelming compassion looking back at him.  But at his side, Kirk looked at him with complete satisfaction and pleasure. 

“Sa-mekh, nash-veh nam-tor muhl.  Nash-veh ma-tor palesh.”

He did not know if Spockh said it to reassure himself or his father of his wellbeing.  But he did know that Spockh would endure this treatment as he had endured the taunts of his own people his entire life.  Sarek replied immediately, hoping to tell his son how he felt about himself at that moment.  “Ko-mekh t’tu nam-tor ak’sh’iz t’nash-veh.”  Amanda would have been ashamed of him, Sarek knew, for his actions, his bargain with McCoy, for everything. 

Spockh shook his head.  “Nash-veh dva-tor ko-mekh t’nash-veh nam-tor tushat na’etwel.  Hi, svi’dan-ek wak, nash-veh dva-tor Ko-mekh ken-tor.”  Sarek could barely breathe.  His son’s words were so similar to something Amanda would have said to reassure him.  And Spockh was right.  Amanda would have grieved for them and what they were experiencing, yet having experienced similar events, she certainly would have understood because she had already experienced it.  Spockh was correct.  His words came to him through his mate’s compassionate katra.  His vision began to blur with his tears. 

“Stop talking in Vulcan,” Kirk ordered. 

Sarek looked at them.  Kirk had Spockh’s jaw cupped in his palm, forcing their gazes to meet.  “Apologies, Captain.”  Kirk smiled at his son in a way he had not witnessed before.  Sarek could not identify why.  “May I speak with my clan mother before she is sent away?”

Kirk did not take his eyes from Spockh as he spoke.  “What’s her caste?”

McCoy provided the answer. “Healer.  We’re gonna try to keep those around here.” 

“See, little one?  She’s not being sent away.”  Kirk stroked Spockh’s cheek with his thumb.

“My request remains.”

Kirk’s smile grew.  “Go on,” he said, before leaning forward and joining their lips.  Horror nearly overwhelmed Sarek as he saw Spockh returning the gesture.  A moment later, Kirk separated them.  “But stay where I can see you.” 

Spockh stepped out of Kirk’s arms and went directly to T’Pau, Kirk’s eyes following him the entire time.  When Kirk turned to face Sarek again, he met the gaze of a confident and relaxed man.  Sarek could not understand why the young captain had not punished Spockh for speaking in Vulcan, and also why he had granted Spockh’s request. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

 She could no longer recall how many of her people with whom she had joined minds for the single purpose of attempting to mend broken bonds within that individual’s essence. 

Once the Mind Healers had managed to stabilize their own minds the survivors kept aboard this vessel had gravitated to them seeking their aid in finding their balance.  T’Pau knew what it meant to endure a sudden severing of a familiar bond, and the mental and emotional chaos that destroyed one’s weakly maintained control when the presence of a bondmate no longer resonated with her.  She had lost her bondmate long ago.  Upon his death their elder son had authority as Head of House in his place.  But she had also lost that son and it fell to her remaining child and son, Sarek, to claim the title, lands, and responsibilities in his place.  The loss of other family members she could not remember as clearly the emotion felt upon the familiar bond’s severing, because it was the moment of her own parent’s deaths that overshadowed the losses of everyone else. 

She had only recently endured her kahs-wan trial and been pronounced to hold a future place among the Healers.  She left the bleak greys and blacks of the Young’s clothing behind to wear the silver of her new caste.  Her parents had been away on an exploratory mission, when Vulcan still believed that to isolate themselves as a planet and a species would place them at risk.  This opinion changed quickly, and the thought of isolation became synonymous with preservation and safety.  They maintained short-range vessels, established contact and trade with nearby planets and systems.  However, the planet Terra went into Vulcan history and memory as something to be feared and avoided.  It was the mission to establish contact with the Terrans that resulted in the sudden severing of T’Pau’s bond with her father.  He had led the mission, and had died for it. 

Her mother’s passing had been later, and not through the result of her death.  T’Pau had reached out to her in her mother’s agony, trying to comfort her.  But a twelve-year-old novice Healer could do almost nothing to aid in her mother’s suffering.  In the end, T’Pau’s mind received her mother’s final wish. 

 _I must separate us, daughter._   Separate.  Remove a connection.  Break a bond.

_If I am without connections to home they cannot use me to find our people._

_But mother, I cannot lose you as well as father._

T’Pau recognized the resignation and sadness in her mother’s katra as she reached out to her in reply.  _You already have.  Live long and prosper, my daughter._

 _Peace, mother._   To wish her long life was not logical.  Her mother would soon perish at the wishes of her captors.  Even in such circumstances, young T’Pau did not wish her mother to suffer long as a captive.  To live a long length of time through captivity and torture is a fate she wished for none, but most especially not for her mother. 

A moment later, the comforting presence of her mother disappeared from her katra.  Three days afterwards, T’Pau had gone to her mentor, T’Lar, to verify the broken bonds.  T’Lar then commanded that T’Pau, at twelve years of age, be named the Matriarch of her Clan until the end of her days.  She had been the youngest Matriarch ever named in the history of Vulcan.  There were no elder females in her line to take her mother’s place in the position.  She had thus been forced to emotionally mature quickly and accustom herself to supreme responsibility and ruling before she had even been truly bonded through experiencing her first pon farr with her mate. 

As a consequence, her silver robes became accented in the colors of a Matriarch. 

She left her mental musing to motion forward her next patient.  Movement at her side however, made her turn.  There stood her grandson, Spockh, in the clothing he had worn when she last saw him.  Blacks.  She wondered if Kirk realized that by clothing them in blacks, both her son and grandson had been brought back down to the level of children in the eyes of her people.  Sarek belonged in the browns designating him as the male Head of House, not this neutral-fated black.  And Spockh…Spockh deserved to wear the dark purples of the Scholar that he had earned.  The color of their family.  The color of Surak. 

Before her stood a child, and until his first pon farr it would be true.  Spockh, without that rite of passage, is a child.  Restraining herself from frowning, T’Pau wondered if it was not appropriate then for this human captain to garb her grandson in the neutral black of the Young.  If only Spockh did not look so uncertain before her and their people.  He looked pale, almost ill, and saddened.  All of them she understood.  In Spockh’s expressive eyes, a quality given to him from his human mother, his despondency clearly reverberated.  That disturbed her the most. 

He spoke in a hushed tone to her.  “May we converse, Pid-kom?” 

T’Pau looked at the Vulcan male she had encouraged forward for his healing.  He, despite his obvious concerns and turmoil, nodded gravely.  “Acceptable, Elder.”  Elder was the term used to a Matriarch or Head of House that was not responsible for that of the speaker.  “May I wait here?”

She turned back to Spockh.  “Do you require privacy for this discussion?”

Spockh shook his head slowly.  “It is unnecessary.  I suspect that nearly everyone already knows of my circumstances.”

Then, she looked to the other male.  “You may,” she answered his question. 

She studied her grandson.  With each passing moment he seemed to wither, despite his effort to remain in perfect posture.  Her sa’fu’al had always been strong. He had to be when he had endured the taunts of every other Vulcan child, and at times the adults, regarding his birth to a human and a former slave at that.  He was the embodiment of disgrace.  Yet he survived those cruelties with barely a grimace in public.  But even T’Pau had witnessed the effect it had on Spockh, how he would shake in barely contained rage, how he meditated almost immediately after crossing the threshold of home to calm his mind.  It struck T’Pau what stood before her.  Spockh as he had never permitted himself to become through his entire life.  He had begun to break before her eyes. 

And now he came to her to fix him. 

“Tell me of your concerns, sa’fu’al,” she ordered when it became clear that he would not begin the conversation he had initiated. 

He hesitated for only a moment.  “I do not believe that T’Pring succeeded in her attempt to heal my broken bond with my mother.”

His answer surprised her.  “For what reason do you say this?”

“I have experienced repeated and unexpected surges in my telepathy since the destruction of our world.”

Spockh’s telepathy had always been impressive.  T’Pau found it intriguing, especially considering that his mother had been human.  As Spockh had matured, she had often wondered how much stronger he would have been had Sarek taken a Vulcan female as his new mate.  But it solved nothing to think on how all of their lives would have been altered had Spockh been born to a female of their people.  Currently, they were able to communicate with their captors, simply because Amanda Grayson had instructed her Vulcan family members in the Imperial Standard language.  So far, that Sarek’s pon farr led him to his young human slave had proven a slight advantage.  She hoped it continued to make their family’s disgrace worth something of value. 

“Do these surges occur at random?”

He shook his head.  “No.”

“Then in one’s specific presence?”

Spockh hesitated then.  “Ye—”  He glanced to his right at the waiting Vulcans before straightening his posture further and clearing his throat.  “Affirmative.”  An odd feeling coursed through her as she understood.  Without Amanda’s presence, Spockh no longer believed his humanity would be welcome by his people.  It never had been, but he did not desire to remind everyone of it, and so he strove to emulate the ideal Vulcan behavior.  T’Pau did not feel it suited her grandson. 

“Who?”  His eyes met hers and she easily saw his terror.  With only that single, overwhelming emotion, she knew.  “The captain.” 

He nodded quickly, swallowing his own voice.  He struggled to control his vocal chords, and cleared his throat.  His voice was so quiet that he stepped closer to her.  She doubted that he would succeed in avoiding anyone eavesdropping on his words.  She did not blame him for this.  Perhaps she should have insisted on the privacy that he deemed unnecessary.  Perhaps it would not have been so difficult for him to discuss if it were the two of them alone. 

“When he released me from that torture chamber, I touched his skin.  Through this physical contact I felt my strength return to me.”

She nodded.  The answer was obvious.  “You transferred his strength to you through your touch telepathy, child.”  Spockh shifted on his feet.  He seemed uneasy.  “You did not engage in a meld?”

He shook his head.  “Negative, Pid-kom.  Only contact, and yet—”  He stopped abruptly, and lowered his head nervously. 

“Go on, sa’fu’al t’nash-veh.  Speak.”  He would not refuse her command. 

“It occurred shortly after the first incident I have described, and it is more disturbing.”  He swallowed.  “The captain was…assaulting me—”  T’Pau refused to let him see her grief for his abuse.  She needed to remain strong.  If he could endure the experience of what he related, she could do no less than match his strength as he sought her guidance and required her support in his description of what the human forced upon him.  “—and when he touched my—his hand was—Forgive me, Pid-kom, but may I demonstrate?” 

T’Pau nodded once, sharply.  Spockh reached out to her and cupped her cheek with his right hand.  He then brought his thumb up in a sweep across her cheekbone.  She knew that Spockh did not exaggerate.  He never had.  That Kirk would conduct himself even remotely similar to this level of gentleness stunned T’Pau.  “What occurred during this touch?”

“I—I believe I saw one of his memories.”

T’Pau reached out toward her grandson immediately.  “With your permission, show me.”  He nodded and lowered his hand that had touched her cheek.  She positioned her fingers on his face, then pressed lightly, establishing a mindmeld.  She saw the memory he referenced.  The young female’s bloody corpse as he witnessed her being carelessly carried down the corridor.  She heard his words to the unseen man.  She felt the impact of the man’s fist on his cheek.  She heard the younger man’s words as though they were her own. 

Within their meld, she felt Spockh’s questioning, but she then realized that his uncertainty rested in the shadow of paralyzing shame.  She probed her grandson’s mind for its source.  She found it quickly.  Spockh was ashamed of his telepathic powers.  This required attention immediately.  “Spockh,” she said to his mental presence.  “You have always possessed a high telepathic capability.  Do you recall the first incident with your mother when you were Young?”  She knew that Spockh remembered when the memory of the human captain faded and bled into one of Spockh’s own.  She had not been present for the incident, but she recalled that it had been the reason why Sarek had brought Spockh to her one day and asked that she assist Spockh in controlling his telepathy. 

 

_“Mother?  What did I do?”  His mother stumbled in her haste to put distance between them in the sitting room.  “I do not understand.”  He followed her retreat.  But her terror consumed her, blinding her to her own surroundings.  She did not see how close she was to the corner of the small table.  He could not warn her in time before she knocked herself off-balance and fell backwards onto the floor.  Spockh went towards her, eager to assist her, despite his confusion over why she had fled.  “Mother, are you—”_

_She scrambled away from him but did not rise to her feet. “Stay away from me!” she shrieked.  “Don’t touch me.  Don’t!”  She hurried away until she could retreat no further.  She had reached the wall, and there she curled into herself, hugging her legs to her chest, and looking at her young son with terrified, watery eyes._

_“Mother, please,” he sobbed, but he dared not approach her further._

_“My wife,” Sarek called from the doorway of the room, drawing both Amanda’s and Spockh’s attention.  His father went quickly to his mother, folding himself into a kneeling position.  “Look to me, my wife.”  She obeyed him and brought her eyes to his.  “Now, speak.  What has caused you such panic?”_

_His mother’s breathing altered, growing quicker.  It was obvious that she did not draw full breaths.  “He just did what you did when—”  A sob prevented her from speaking.  She hid her face in her knees.  Spockh watched his father, who seemed to somehow understand what she barely managed to say._

_“My wife, the mind meld is a common practice among my people.”_

_“Well, it isn’t among mine!” she screamed at him.  Spockh flinched away from her hysteria.  His father barely reacted to it.  He simply reached out to lay his hand softly upon hers that clutched her legs to her body.  “I didn’t even know about it until you—when I—”  She glanced at Spockh before closing her eyes.  “When we married,” she spat the word through clenched teeth._

_“I regret the circumstances of—”_

_His mother interrupted his father.  “But he just touched me.  Not like you when you—”  She tore her hand from his father’s and bent her fingers in an odd angle.  It took Spockh a moment to realize that she was trying to demonstrate how the hand must be positioned during a true mind meld.  She was human and could not perform it, therefore she would not know how to properly position her fingers.  “He didn’t do that, but he was there in my head.”  Her breathing pace increased further.  Spockh began to worry for her health.  Apparently, his father shared his concern._

_He captured her flailing hand within his and held it firmly.  “Hush, my wife.  Be calm.  You must breathe.”  She looked at him tearfully, her shortened breaths forcing her to sob.  “I beg thee, my wife, attempt to calm yourself.”  She closed her eyes and nodded erratically.  Even as Spockh watched her try to take a deep breath, it usually resulted in an aborted sob.  But even small progress seemed satisfactory to his father.  “Good,” he encouraged her.  “May I carry you into our chambers so that you may rest?”  Without opening her eyes she nodded again.  He slid his arms around her, one supporting her knees, the other her back.  One of her hands went immediately to his chest and grabbed a handful of the fabric there.  “You must rest, ashal-veh, I cannot lose you.”_

_He heard his mother sniffle as his father carried her away.  “Talk to Spockh, Sarek.”_

_“When you are at rest and comfortable I shall do so.”_

_Spockh understood that his father would rather he remain where he stood.  As the moments became minutes, he found himself standing in the place where his mother’s retreat had ended.  He lowered himself to the floor, staring at the location, wondering what he had done wrong.  His mind had pondered this question so deeply that he did not hear his father’s return until he spoke to him._

_“Spockh, you will repeat the precise manner in which you made physical contact with your mother.”  Spockh knew that his father wanted him to touch him, not to repeat the gesture to his mother._

_“The result may not repeat with you, Father.”_

_His protest earned him an indulgent head tilt from his father.  “I am unshielded, my son.”_

_Spockh sighed and then reached out to his father, touching his fingers to the skin of his parent’s wrist.  He did not know if it was because of his father’s lowered shields, but Spockh immediately knew that he had somehow entered his father’s mind.  He drew back instantly, lowering his head in shame.  “I apologize, Father.  I did not intend to—”_

_“I am aware that it was unintentional, Spockh,” his father tried to reassure him._

_“Did I hurt Mother?”_

_The question received no response.  “We will go to Pid-kom T’Pau tomorrow,” he said instead.  “She will then begin instruction with you in how to control your telepathy, to discipline your mind.”  It was a rare occasion when his father sighed aloud.  He must be deeply troubled.  “Until then,” he continued, “you will limit your physical contact with your mother.  You will not touch her skin unless she initiates contact, or you have her permission for such contact.”_

_Spockh could not understand.  He would not be permitted to touch his mother again?  What had he done?_

_His father must have seen his despair at the concept.  “Understand, Spockh, that your mother is frightened of the joining of minds.”_

_He felt tears blur his vision.  He knew the reason.  “Because of me.”_

_His father did not silence his own gasp at Spockh’s statement.  “No, my son.  She fears it because of me.”_

She did not withdraw from their meld.  Spockh pushed her from his mind.  Their meld did not calm him.  It seemed to have precisely the opposite effect.  He looked devastated.  “Can I take measures to stop this from occurring with him?”

She shook her head.  “Not without proper meditation.  We have discussed this when you were Young.”  He already knew these things. 

“And if I were to maintain high shields?”  His questions became desperate. 

“I have discouraged increased shielding since I began instructing you in this discipline.” 

It was clearly not the answer Spockh had hoped to receive.  His entire posture and expression crumbled into one of hopelessness.  When he looked at her, he begged her to deny his words with his eyes.  “Then I must endure this invasion of my mind as well as my body?”

T’Pau did not care if any of their people observed their conversation.  She did not care what they thought of her grandson.  He needed her at that moment.  Vulcan etiquette and propriety could wait while she handled her family, especially her dearest grandchild.  She reached out to him and gently tilted his head up so that they could make eye contact.  “Sa’fu’al t’nash-veh,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm.  “Your telepathy is not a thing to endure, but for you to master.  You have always been powerful.  You will conquer this and you will grow strong.” 

She released him and felt pride when he straightened his posture at her words.  She continued with her assessment of his concerns.  “I advise you to meditate in every moment in which you are apart from Kirk.”

Spockh shook his head.  “I am rarely alone, with the exception of times he is commanding this ship.  It is insufficient time for me to properly meditate.  Typically, I require, at the minimum, two hours.” 

There could be an alternative.  “Have you been sleeping since our removal from Vulcan?”

Spockh shuddered.  “The captain forces me to accompany him in his slumber.”

T’Pau tried to ignore what Spockh did not explicitly state.  “That was not what I had asked.”

He understood then.  “I have achieved sleep.”

“Is it restful?”

“Yes.”  The answer seemed to surprise even Spockh. 

“In that case, due to increased sleep, you may reduce your needed time for meditation.”

Spockh shook his head even as he thought.  “I do not believe that reducing my—”

T’Pau knew there may be only one fact that could convince her grandson to obey her advice.  “Your katra is balanced, Spockh.”

He stopped speaking mid-sentence.  She had his attention completely, yet Spockh was clearly confused by her words.  “That cannot be, Pid-kom.”

But she had seen his katra, and she knew for a certainty.  “I repeat, you are stable.”

“Through T’Pring’s efforts,” he stated.

T’Pau knew his assumption to be incorrect.  But his eyes shined with a new expression.  Hope.  After all that he had endured these last several days, she could not deny him that small comfort.  “It is a possible factor.” 

Spockh released a held breath.  “How?” he asked.  “How can I be stable after all that I, after all that our people, have endured?”

The male waiting for her healing services prevented her from answering her grandson.  “You should not reject this, Son of Sarek.  Your stability is fortunate, and a state that many of our people now crave and seek.  To desire, or take action, to make yourself otherwise is not logical.”

Her eyes were on Spockh as the other male said this.  He absorbed his words, but his confusion remained.  “But I…do not understand how I have achieved stability in these conditions.”  Spockh looked to her for this answer. 

She regretted that she had no answer for him except one terribly insufficient word.  “Kaiidth.”  His stability simply came to be, and she had no explanation or reassurance to give him. 

“Spock,” the young captain called, claiming the attention of both herself and her grandson.  “Come here.”  The human did not look toward them to see if Spockh obeyed.  Clearly, he had confidence that his Vulcan captive would do as he commanded. 

Spockh turned to her, the reluctance obvious in his eyes.  She nodded to him.  “Go to him, Spockh-kan.”

Spockh straightened his posture, but his mood radiated resignation.  He offered her the customary bow to his Matriarch.  “I thank thee for thy counsel and assistance, Pid-kom.” With that, Spockh turned slowly and returned to his jailor.

T’Pau observed him for a moment longer, seeing Kirk look at Spockh briefly as he arrived at his side.  They did not speak.  Kirk’s attention returned to his previous concern.  But T’Pau noted that he seemed continually aware of Spockh’s place in relation to his own.  For some reason, the sight did not disturb her as much as she thought that it should disturb her.  That did not mean that she had no intention of observing Kirk’s behavior toward her grandson whenever she could.  The man was still dangerous and lethal.  T’Pau had no desire to stand aside as her favorite grandson suffered execution on the man’s whim.  She would die before she simply watched that atrocity occur.  She knew that Sarek would do the same. 

She turned her attention back to her patients.  The male that spoke to Spockh came forward at her command.  After many years of patients coming to her for healing or advice, T’Pau could instantly recognize when someone desired to speak but did not believe it the wisest or most opportune time to voice those thoughts.  This male looked upon her with open curiosity and just enough confusion to make her interested.  When his gaze lingered on Spockh, she understood precisely what he wished to say.  He wore the dark purple robes that Spockh had once worn before the captain stripped him and clothed him in black.  “I see what it is you wish to voice, but do not speak of it.”  He stopped short in his approach to her.  Did she surprise him?  Possibly.  She may be an elder, but she still had the same sharp wits and observational skills of a Vulcan half her age.  “At least not yet.” 

He looked back to Spockh.  She followed his gaze.  Spockh deeply inclined his head to Kirk, speaking softly.  Too softly for them to hear.  They both watched as Kirk pulled Spockh close to him by the fabric at the Vulcan’s collarbone, his other hand coming to rest possessively at Spockh’s waist.  He leaned forward and spoke quietly into her grandson’s ear.  Whatever he said made Spockh close his eyes in response, which earned him a lustful smirk from the human. 

“You are a Scholar,” T’Pau said to the male at her side.  “Recall your earliest lessons.”

She turned away from the captain and her grandson to meld with her patient in an attempt to stabilize his chaotic mind and soothe his broken bonds. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

 “What about controlling them?” Uhura asked the question like the Vulcans weren’t even standing there with them.  Kirk looked to his Vulcan’s father for a reaction.  That none occurred only minimally disappointed him. 

“M’Binga and Chapel finally got that hypo we’ve been using into an aerosol formula,” McCoy answered.  “So all we gotta do is flood it into the places we contain all these people.” 

That could be a problem.  “How does it affect humans?” he asked.

Everyone turned to look at him as though they were surprised that Kirk asked the question.  Did no one else think of this as a potential problem?  What good would this formula be if it also had an impact on his crew?  The Vulcans would have the advantage and his ship could be overtaken by his captives, even still in their bindings.  Kirk did not forget that his little pet had managed to escape him during their first encounter with both his ankles and wrists bound.  If that could happen, Kirk had little doubt that something similar could occur with any other Vulcan aboard.  And he refused to allow them that opportunity.

“Well, it—” McCoy began, drawing everyone’s attention to him.  “—might make a human a little nauseated, but not much else.”

Nauseated still seemed like a risk to Kirk, but it was better than wasting officers by having them go around administering hypos one by one to every Vulcan, especially with them being separated to different areas of the ship.  “Okay, we’ll pump the compound into the rooms where we’re keeping the Vulcans.”  He turned to Uhura.  “Have Olson start working on that.” 

Uhura nodded sharply.  “Done, sir.” 

“Dismissed, Uhura.  Report to the bridge.  I need you to monitor those Romulans coming toward us.  Once they arrive, tell me immediately, and we’ll prepare to meet them.  If I’m not available, I’d rather meet them on our ship, not theirs.”  She nodded again, making a notation or two on her padd as he detailed her orders.  She took one step away from the group before Kirk stopped her.  “You’re to join us when we meet them.”  He grinned at her.  “Just in case they decide to speak Romulan in front of us.  I want you there to eavesdrop.” 

She returned his grin.  Moments later, the doors to Sickbay hissed, signaling her departure. 

With their discussion at an end, Kirk finally looked around the overcrowded Sickbay.  He had not realized just how many people were here.  The air stifled him with so many bodies generating heat like this even with the Vulcans’ lower body temperatures.  He smiled to himself as he thought of how Spock curled up against him in his sleep.  Kirk knew it had nothing to do with the Vulcan liking him, but that it had everything to do with simple survival.  Kirk had experienced the heat of Vulcan enough during his encounter on the Romulan drill platform to know that the former planet had been the equivalent of equatorial region hot of Terra.  Ship normal temperature for these Vulcans most likely felt chilly, cold even.  He knew that Spock slept so close to him for the simple reason of keeping himself warm.  At least he knew where the Vulcan was at all times when they slept.  Kirk glanced at his Vulcan, his smile widening as he looked him over from the top of his silken hair down his entire body.  He couldn’t heal quickly enough.

The Vulcans gathered in small groups, huddled together, probably for the same reason that Spock slept so closely against Kirk.  They sought each other’s warmth.  By the variety of ages within some of those groups, it was simple to figure out which were family units and which were only acquaintances or complete strangers to each other.  But they all gathered close to one another. 

And Kirk was about to have them all separated. 

He stepped away from the group and raised his communicator to call Sulu, who acknowledged with surprising speed.  “Gather up as many security officers as you can, somewhere around forty should be sufficient, and have them report to Sickbay.” 

“That’s a high number, Captain,” replied Sulu.  “May I ask why?”

“I need you here, too,” Kirk answered.  “You’re all to be here to handle prisoner transfers.  Thought you’d enjoy that sort of thing.”

He could hear the sadistic smile in Sulu’s voice.  “I would.  I’ll have everyone there right away.  Sulu out.”

Kirk wasted no time in repeating that order to his other, unofficial Chief of Security, but where he didn’t specify it with Sulu, he made sure to have Giotto assemble forty of his best officers. 

When he rejoined McCoy and the others, he saw that they’d grown by one participant.  Next to the female Vulcan doctor stood two small children.  They obviously had just gone to her, since she had not yet given them her attention.  Her husband, Stonn, stood just behind the children.  Kirk knew he spoke Standard, but he doubted those children did.  He went to stand next to him, and quietly ordered him to translate the conversation.  Stonn only looked surprised for a moment before complying.

“I am unwell,” the girl child stated bluntly.

At the announcement, T’Pring turned her attention to her.  “What are your symptoms, child?”

“I am not steady when standing.”  Kirk, despite Stonn’s literal translation, realized she meant ‘dizzy.’  “I am experiencing pain in my head.”

T’Pring looked at the girl in sympathy.  “That symptom is most likely due to your loss of bonds with our home’s destruction.”

The child continued as though she did not hear T’Pring’s potential explanation for her last symptom.  “My hands and feet have not responded as normal, and at times, I do not register touch in those regions as clearly.”  Kirk realized she meant that her hands and feet were numb sometimes.  “Lastly, I have developed moisture secretion from my skin.”  Kirk thought with amusement that it was the most verbose way to complain about sweating. 

“You failed to include the difficulty breathing when you require sleep,” added the Vulcan boy standing beside her. 

The girl nodded.  “This is true,” she said to T’Pring.  “When I recline to rest it is difficult to breathe properly.” 

T’Pring then transformed into a doctor before Kirk’s eyes.  She produced a tricorder that Kirk hadn’t even realized she carried until that moment and began scanning the girl.  “Please step away from her, young one,” she said to the boy.  “I thank you for escorting her to me, but her health is between her and me.” 

Kirk expected the boy to leave, but the girl spoke to T’Pring immediately.  “He will remain.  He is my mate.”  He stared at the children in shock.  They couldn’t be more than nine years old.  How were they already mates?  “We are to be bonded,” she continued.  “Parted from me and never parted.”

“Never and always touching and touched,” the boy finished. 

T’Pring’s posture lost all of its rigidity.  “Then, he may stay at your side during this consultation.”

They nodded as one to T’Pring.  The boy, however, looked right at Kirk.  “You will not separate us, will you, Captain?”  With Stonn translating for him, it took Kirk a moment to even try to respond.  He took longer than the boy wanted, it seemed, because he spoke again, this time entreatingly.  “Neither of us have living family left.  We have only each other.  Do not part us.”

 

_“She’s dead?” he asked, eyes filled with tears._

_He didn’t want to tell him.  The kid was barely old enough to really understand what death meant.  All he could do was nod._

_“Papa?”  He looked so hopeful, so desperate._

_“No,” he said, his voice hoarse.  “He didn’t make it.”_

_The kid might not understand what it meant when someone died, but he grasped his current situation enough, it seemed.  His huge, watery eyes looked around their little group of refugees, all of them dirty, all of them injured, and all of them alone.  But they were together here.  This child understood that much at least._

_“I only had my parents,” he whispered._

_“I know.”_

_He began to cry.  “But now I got you, right?”_

_As soon as he nodded at the boy’s question, he found his arms filled with a crying child.  “Don’t go anywhere, okay?  You can keep us all safe right?”  He looked around their orphaned group.  They all pleaded with him without words, but their eyes were clearly in agreement with the boy he held.  With surprise, he realized that in one instant, these other children – including the one that matched his age – had silently and unanimously decided him as their leader._

_He held the boy tighter, and spoke quietly, as all of them huddled among themselves in this abandoned cellar.  “I won’t leave, Pavel,” he swore.  “And I promise we’ll all make it off this hell alive, or I’ll die trying to get us there.”_

This little Vulcan boy looked at him in the same way those kids did years ago.  He had only one response he could give this boy.  “No.  I won’t separate you.” 

His reply earned him a deep bow from the boy.  “I thank thee, Captain.”  Then, the child turned his attention back to T’Pring and his mate. 

 _“Thank you, J.”_   In that moment, when Kirk heard the younger voice of his friend, he knew that he would accept no one else for the task.  He got his communicator out again and made the call.  “Report to Sickbay, Chekov.  And bring your wife with you.”

Red flowed into Sickbay like blood seeping from a wound.  Kirk felt the large room grow tense at the sight of them.  If there were quiet conversations going on amongst the clustered groups of Vulcans, all of them ceased at the arrival of the Security Officers he’d ordered here.  Sulu and Giotto led them in through the doors leading to the corridor.  They had not taken the route using the turbolift.  They were leading an impressive amount of Security here, so Kirk agreed with their approach.  He noticed that none of them had been equipped with a phaser.  Good.  At least they wouldn’t go around killing the Vulcans.  But they did have their agonizers, and a little physical torture he could let them indulge in.  Sulu looked almost gleeful to be there.  Kirk knew he would be the one to agonize as many of their captives as he could during their transfers. 

Kirk turned to where he’d watched his Vulcan go in order to talk with the old woman.  He wanted him near him, if only to prevent one of the overzealous security officers from harming him without his knowledge or permission.  “Spock,” he called.  “Come here.” 

“Start separating everyone,” he ordered T’Pring.  “Start with the Warriors.”  She hesitated, glancing at her husband with a look Kirk could only describe as dread.  He didn’t want to think about it. 

“Captain,” T’Pring spoke quietly.  “This will take some time.” 

“I know.”  He saw the two children that T’Pring had been speaking to had drifted close to Sarek and McCoy, both of them managing to tuck themselves between the men.  The girl clung to Sarek’s clothing.  The boy held onto her.  McCoy’s close position to the boy clearly warned others from coming near them.  Kirk realized that his friend was trying to protect these kids. 

Spock arrived at his side.  Kirk saw him but did not acknowledge him. He turned instead to Sulu and Giotto.  “This first group is to stay in their bindings, and they’re to be taken to the brigs.  I don’t care how many to a cell.”

“I will not leave my mate, Captain,” Stonn said as T’Pring began to call out the names of those in the Warrior Caste. 

Kirk was unimpressed.  “You’ll do as you’re told like every other Vulcan on this ship.” 

Stonn did not obey.  He gestured loosely at the children between Sarek and McCoy.  “You did not force these mated children apart.  You will not force me from mine.”

Kirk calmly stepped closer to Stonn, refusing to show this many members of security that this one Vulcan had just pissed him off by trying to order him, the captain.  “If I let you stay then I can’t separate anyone, can I?  That’s why you don’t get special arrangements.”  He noticed then that T’Pring had stopped speaking.  He looked at her.  “Why the hell did you stop?  Keep calling out these names until your voice is hoarse.”  She hesitated again, glancing between Stonn and Kirk.

“Do as he says,” whispered Spock.  “It will prevent this conversation from travelling to both Vulcan and Human ears.”  T’Pring nodded shakily and resumed calling names. 

Kirk stared hard at Spock, remembering the two mated children suddenly.  Did Spock have a mate?  Based on how no one had come to his defense ever since the incident in this room where he almost took him in public, Kirk highly doubted that Spock was mated.  That made him wonder suddenly why Spock had no mate.  Was there something wrong with him that no one felt necessary to tell him about?  Why was everything about Spock different than all the other Vulcans he’d spoken to up to now?  He had no idea, but he wanted to find out. 

Spock tensed at Kirk’s scrutiny.  He lowered his head deeply in supplication.  “Forgive me, Captain.  I sought only to preserve your authority over us.”

Kirk raised his eyebrows.  “Did you, little one?”  He grabbed Spock’s clothing at his collarbone and pulled him close.  The motion unsteadied Spock, but Kirk latched onto his waist with his other hand to support him.  “We’ll see.”  He leaned in close to Spock’s ear and breathed, “Later, I’ll make you prove that statement, do you understand?”  He heard Spock gasp quietly, the sound bringing a smirk to his lips.  He imagined briefly what he would have this beautiful creature do for him.  Kirk looked at the Vulcan’s lips, and avoided that temptation by licking his own quickly. 

A noise caught his attention behind him, and he turned, releasing Spock as he did so.  Stonn no longer translated the Vulcan language for him, but Kirk didn’t need a translation.  He’d seen this same scenario several times before.  A Vulcan woman was walking towards security to join the others already enclosed by a group of his officers standing in formation around them.  Kirk fleetingly noticed that all of the Vulcans in that group wore shades of green.  That could not be coincidental.  This woman’s name must have been called.  Clinging to her robes was a young child, a girl.  She was crying and begging her mother.  The adult female turned and urgently tried to pry the child’s fingers from her clothing, speaking softly yet quickly.  “Rai, ko-mekh, rai!” 

 

_“…Reilly!”_

_From the crowd he heard a child screaming.  “No, mum!  No!  Don’t go up there.”_

_“I have to.  I’m on the list.  Everything will be okay, Kevin.”_

_The young boy was nearly hysterical.  “No one else came back from the list.”_

_He watched where he stood among the juvenile ranks of the Governor’s Guard.  He’d seen this sort of thing before, many times now.  Some people went easier than others.  The unlucky ones were the ones with children. The kids never quietly accepted their parents’ fate.  He’d been to enough of these already to know how the pattern went.  One of the men of the guards came forward and grabbed the woman’s arms, while a second guard approached the boy._

_The sound of impact made him flinch.  The sound of the boy’s screams made him watch._

_The boy’s arm had clearly been broken.  It was only a matter of time now, he knew, before he would hear the name Kevin Reilly called at one of these assemblies._

_Anyone injured required plenty of rest and food._

_And neither of them was readily available anymore._

One of the red-shirted officers came forward and grabbed the little girl’s hands tightly.  She held on until the man drew his agonizer, grabbed her wrist, and pressed the device to her small hand.  When he activated it, the little girl’s begging turned to screaming.  The officer laughed at the child’s pain. 

_The guard had also laughed when he broke Kevin’s arm._

Something in Kirk surged as he headed toward the officer that continued to agonize this little girl.  “Stop,” he commanded. 

His voice surprised the officer enough to momentarily deactivate the agonizer and look at Kirk.  He recognized him as Frank Bensen.  “Little bitch won’t cooperate.  Have to persuade these stupid Vulcans to behave, sir.”

Kirk felt every Vulcan watching this moment.  The entire Sickbay had grown silent except for the sobbing of this Vulcan child and the ragged breathing of her mother.  But he couldn’t look away from his crewman.  His hand went to his dagger, just in case.  “They’re already weakened.  Are you telling me you can’t overpower a little girl?”

Bensen’s face twisted in rage.  “I’m saying we should show everyone—”

Kirk was not about to let him finish.  “You will not agonize a child again.  That’s an order.”

“Oh yeah, Kirk?”  Bensen’s fist came up so fast that Kirk couldn’t avoid it. It hit him in his jaw and sent him back a few steps.  But it was enough time for Bensen to bring his agonizer back to the girl, and activate it. 

Her screams were the only thing Kirk could hear in Sickbay.  None of the other Vulcans dared to protest.  They were terrified.  But Kirk felt no such terror.  Only rage remained.  He whirled back to Bensen, the other man not even seeing him move.  If he did, he had no time to respond or escape.  Kirk’s blade flashed silver as he swung his arm, but by the time the arc had completed his dagger dripped crimson.  Bensen looked at him in shock as he choked, his fingers shaking as he touched his slick throat.  He dropped to the ground the next instant, the floor pooling with his blood. 

Kirk grabbed the Vulcan girl’s arm and roughly led her away, leaving her to stand with the two kids by Sarek and McCoy.  Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw McCoy put his hand on the girl’s shoulder, keeping her there.  Kirk looked at his gathered security officers and steadied his voice as best he could.  “If anyone harms a child on my ship—”  He used his blood-soaked dagger to point to Bensen’s body.  “—you’ll find out what that feels like.  Am I understood, gentlemen?” 

They chorused together.  “Aye, Captain.” 

Kirk crouched down beside Bensen and lifted the hem of the man’s red shirt, using it to clean his blade of the man’s blood.  With deliberate movements, he replaced his weapon at his waist before standing again.  The Vulcan woman in green whispered to him.  “Shaya tonat, khart-lan.”  He didn’t understand. 

He went to T’Pring.  “Carry on.”  T’Pring nodded sharply and broke the silence that had overtaken Sickbay by calling more names listed on her padd. 

Kirk watched as each Vulcan came forward as they were called, but his mind wandered.  He just killed a member of his own crew publicly.  Usually he would perform his executions privately, so as not to draw attention.  What had he done?  This could play out positively for him, possibly cementing his hold and authority as this ship’s captain by his executing Bensen.  But the crew now knew something of him they had not before. 

James T. Kirk had no tolerance for the torture of children. 

“Captain?”  Spock’s voice brought him from his thoughts.  His Vulcan had approached closer to him and he didn’t even notice.  Spock’s gaze went to his jaw where Bensen punched him.  “Are you inj—”

He couldn’t look weak now.  Not now.  He had to stop Spock from asking after him.  He doubted the Vulcan cared much anyway, as he only stood at his side because Kirk took him as his own.  “What did she say to me just now?”  He met Spock’s eyes. 

Spock seemed to understand why Kirk interrupted his question.  He nodded, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips to speak.  Kirk wanted nothing more in that moment but to return to his quarters and let the Vulcan comfort him, even if that comfort wasn’t genuinely offered.  He wanted Spock in his arms.  “She said, ‘Thank you, Captain.’” 

Kirk released a breath he didn’t know he’d been containing.  He looked across the room for the woman and found her already looking at him.  He could not approach her, and he could not speak to her.  He settled instead for a nod of understanding.  She surprised him by bowing, bending at her waist and lowering her eyes to the floor.  When she stood straight again, her eyes shone with a gratitude that Kirk did not feel he deserved. 

Distantly, Kirk heard T’Pring’s voice calling names, but after several of them, he no longer heard her voice.  “Sirok.  T’Ryak…”  It shifted in his mind to someone else.  Someone from years ago.  Someone he’d tried to forget. 

_“Kevin Reilly, Ruth van Gelder, James Tiberius…”_

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

“Van Gelder,” he heard the elderly Vulcan call from the next cell.  “It is time.”

Now that it had arrived, Simon wasn’t sure if he could do it, if they could succeed in their ambitious escape plan.  So much of it depended on timing, on luck, and on trusting this Vulcan.  He almost hadn’t even regained consciousness in time.  They had a small window of opportunity to get this scheme accomplished, and the key moment was to leave Tantalus just as the shield surrounding the planet lowered in order to allow Captain Pike’s shuttlecraft to depart safely.  Without those shields down the four of them would have zero chance of escape. 

Yet the Vulcan had promised him, and for an unexplainable reason he knew he could trust Spock. 

He looked across the corridor to Winona’s cell.  When he’d awoken, she had been absent.  Pike and Adams had kept her behind.  Simon both wanted and didn’t want to know the reason for that.  He suspected that Pike had finally gotten what he wanted from her since their Academy days.  However, looking at her, he didn’t see any signs of abuse.  But there weren’t always obvious signs.  Perhaps Pike had been careful.  Perhaps he’d even pretended to be George for her.  He shuddered at that terrible thought. 

“Are you prepared?” the Vulcan asked. 

“I’m ready.”

“As are we,” he replied from the other side of the wall.  “It is one minute until the scheduled change.”

Even though the Vulcan couldn’t see him, Simon found himself nodding.  He wasn’t ready, not really.  But he would have to be.  There was no other choice.  If it did not occur now, they would likely never have the chance again.  It had to be now. 

The doors at the far end of the corridor of cells parted to admit the new duty guard.  The man finishing his shift gave his replacement a brief nod before exiting, the doors sliding shut behind him.  Simon tensed in anticipation of the Vulcan’s talents.  He’d told him that his telepathy was unusually powerful, even among his people, but that such an action required extreme focus and a little more time than normal activities.  Simon tried not to bounce in anticipation. 

At first there was no change in the guard.  He stood as rigid as ever beside the door.  But then – there it was – a deadening of his eyes.  He sluggishly strode towards the cells, heading directly for Simon’s neighbor.  With slow and deliberate movements, the guard touched the force field controls.  Simon heard a quieting of the ever-present hum of the force fields in the corridor, realizing that the one containing the Vulcan and the Scotsman had been deactivated.  The Vulcan somehow succeeded in his part.  Simon did not believe Spock could actually do it. 

Spock stepped out of his cell, the Scotsman right behind him to scoop up the guard’s phaser rifle.  The Vulcan’s hand applied pressure at the base of the guard’s neck, causing him to fall to the floor like a sack of produce.  “Did you kill him?”

“I did not,” Spock replied as he knelt beside the fallen man.  “Only rendered him unconscious.”  Simon watched as he turned the guard’s head so that he faced the ceiling, then contorted his hand in a strange position on one side of the man’s face.  It seemed like less than a minute before he withdrew his hand from the guard and got back to his feet.  He went directly to the panel that controlled the force field of Simon’s cell.  Eight high-pitched beeps later, Simon’s cell deactivated. 

The Vulcan had already crossed the hallway to Winona’s cell.  Simon followed him.  “How did you know the code?”

Spock looked bored or impatient as he replied, keying in the command to deactivate Winona’s cell while he spoke.  “In order to retrieve the necessary codes to lower the force fields of your cells, and exit this area, it was more efficient to simply take the information from his mind than waste time in interrogation.” 

“You read his mind?” Simon asked.  He didn’t even know Vulcans could do that.  The little information he knew about Vulcans came from the limited information that the Empress allowed for publication from the dissection and studies conducted on the First Captives. 

“Essentially, yes.”  The last beep sounded and the force field of Winona’s cell disappeared.  Spock gently took her arm and escorted her from her cell.  Her eyes and expression were blank.  Simon wondered if she even knew what was occurring around her.  The Scotsman faced the door to the corridor beyond, the phaser rifle aimed and ready to kill anyone coming through.  Simon, Spock, and Winona reached him as a group.  “Mister Scott, what we have discussed.”

The other man turned to look at the Vulcan.  His face clearly showed his reluctance.  Spock walked past him, still supporting Winona, to the access panel, quickly tapping another code into it.  He turned back to the younger man with his finger poised above the last command that would open the doors.  “Mister Scott, we have no time to discuss the morality of what you must do.”

He raised the rifle, and spoke in an unsteady voice as he aimed at the unconscious guard.  “Sorry, mate.”  He fired. 

Spock opened the doors, pulling Winona through with him as the Scotsman jogged to get ahead of them.  Simon only looked back once to see the guard’s blood from the fatal head wound spreading on the floor as the doors closed behind them.  The elder Vulcan only spoke during their flight from their cells to tell their armed companion which way to travel.  Simon recalled during their planning of this moment that Spock had informed them that he had an excellent memory and knew precisely where their exit would be, where the shield and transporter control room would be.  Simon had even questioned if he remembered the shield code, in case they weren’t in time.  The Vulcan had only looked at him with an expression that radiated confidence.  Simon had needed no reply. 

With every turn, the potential of encountering a staff member occurred.  The Scotsman did not hesitate.  As soon as he spotted movement, he fired the rifle.  “If you would, Doctor,” quipped the Vulcan as they passed.  Somehow, Simon knew Spock meant for him to pick up the guard’s fallen weapon.  They encountered two other guards along the way, and thus two additional weapons.  Simon cradled two of them, as he continuously looked behind them to be sure they were not pursued. 

Finally, they reached the doors to their destination.  “A phaser,” Spock ordered, holding out his free hand without looking to see if Simon would hand one over.  Simon gave him the smallest of the phasers, which seemed to suit the Vulcan fine.  “Support Mrs. Kirk, Doctor.  My hands must be free for this moment.”  He passed Winona to Simon, and he wound her arm through his own.  He felt that he would need the use of his arms as well beyond this door.  But he also needed to keep her steady.  She could not do it herself.  Without hesitation, Spock granted them access, and they entered the chamber that could be the way to their freedom. 

The room’s walls were lined in readouts and machinery.  At the far end stood a transporter pad.  In the center of the chamber was an island of controls, some of which for the transporter, others for the mounted communications unit at its center, and the other third of the controls were designated for the security shield of the Tantalus Penal Institution to prevent unauthorized entry to the compound – or escape from it.  At these controls stood a single individual, a man younger than their Scotsman.  He had just switched off the communications to his station as the doors parted to admit them. 

Spock strode past the humans with his phaser raised at the young man’s eyes.  “What is that status of the shield around this place?”

The youth swallowed.  “It’s, uh…”  He reached towards a switch. 

Spock grabbed his hand, keeping his phaser trained on the young guard.  “You do not need to activate anything to inform me of the shield’s status.  Now, tell me.”

He shook in the Vulcan’s grasp.  “About seventy-five percent lowered.”

“And how long until it will reach completion?”

He glanced at the readout. “Two minutes.”

“It will remain lowered for how long?”

“About five.”

Simon swore that Spock was about to shoot the man.  Until a new voice that he recognized and despised came through the communications speaker.  “This is Captain Pike, requesting status of the force field surrounding the planet.  How long until my shuttle can safely depart?”

The Vulcan did not balk.  His voice lowered to a deadly promise.  “Conduct your business as normal.  Do not reveal our presence.  If you do, I will instantly and telepathically render you insane, but I will resist your murder.  You understand?”  The man nodded, his terror obvious.  “Answer him.” 

The youth flicked open his voice pick-up.  “Captain Pike, you have one minute until you are clear for departure.”

“Standing by.  Inform me at that time.  Pike out.” 

The young man turned off his communications again, and bravely stared down the lethal end of Spock’s phaser, almost daring the Vulcan to kill him.  Instead, Spock spoke to his companions.  “Mister Scott, your role is now vital to our success.  Your equation must be inputted.” 

The Scotsman quickly went to the transporter controls and began entering the very formula that brought him to Tantalus.  Simon felt Winona begin to shake against him.  He turned to face the door, ready to shoot anyone who would try to stop them now.  From behind him he heard their younger companion lament in frustration, “I cannae figure in a few variables without somewhere to go.”

There was a low buzz from the control station island.  The young technician looked down at it.  “The shield is fully lowered.”

“Inform Captain Pike,” Spock ordered him. 

He flicked on the switch again.  “Captain Pike, you are cleared for departure.”

“Understood,” came Pike’s reply.  The communication switched off immediately afterwards on their end. 

Simon heard the phaser go off.  When he turned he saw the young guard slump over the controls.  Spock effortlessly brushed him off of it sending him to the floor in a heap as though he were an irritating insect.  He leaned over to look at the Scotsman’s readout.  Simon could not prevent himself from speaking.  “You said you wouldn’t kill the boy.” 

Spock gave him that same confident expression as he had during their planning.  “I said no such thing.  I said I would resist killing.  I did, until he ceased to be of use to our cause.”  He turned back to the readout. 

Suddenly, the young man’s death didn’t seem as large of a problem as the one they faced with the other man’s equation.  “Wait,” Simon said.  “Are you saying we have nowhere to go?” 

Spock left the Scotsman’s readout and came at him.  He took the phaser rifle from Simon, and traded it for his smaller hand phaser.  “Doctor, scan for ships in this area of space – any at all – or this will all have been in vain.” 

Simon couldn’t believe what he heard.  They had no option but to beam themselves into space itself?  Why did they even bother?  He went to the controls, bringing Winona with him, and began to scan for any vessel in the vicinity.  He ignored the sign from Pike’s shuttlecraft.  He would even take a hostile vessel at this point.  No matter what occurred, Simon refused to return to his cell here.  He would rather kill himself than go back there.  “There’s nothing, Vulcan!”  He looked at the old alien.  “You’ve brought us here for nothing!  We’ve killed people for nothing!” 

Suddenly, Spock gasped aloud and swayed on his feet.  One of his hands went to his head for a second, before his unbalanced stance forced him to hold onto the corner of the control panel island to prevent his own collapse.  He took several deep breaths before he could speak.  “There is a ship.  It is approaching in a direct course to our location.  It had originally traveled from Vulcan—” He grimaced as though in agony.  “From what was Vulcan,” he corrected.  “Towards Terra.  It then diverted from that path and is following a direct course here.”

Simon stared at him.  “How could you possibly know that?”

Spock ignored his question.  “Mister Scott, factor that into your calculations.” 

The Scotsman exchanged a look with Simon.  “I…I don’t know where they’ll be when we leave.” 

Simon was shoved aside by the Vulcan as he came back to stand at their companion’s side.  He feverishly input the information he needed into the equation.  The engineer shook his head when the Vulcan finished, and they both looked at the completed calculations.  “It’s too risky, Vulcan.”

Spock bristled in frustration.  “Gentlemen, we have come too far now.  If we stay and do not risk transport, we will die.  If we transport and fail to arrive, we will die.  But if we transport and arrive safely aboard this vessel, we will survive with the potential to change everything.”  He clenched his jaw and growled, “Which of these scenarios do you prefer?”

The Scotsman was the first to answer.  “Aye, Vulcan.  Life.”

Spock’s tension seemed to vanish.  “As do I, Mister Scott.”

“Home,” Winona whispered.  Everyone turned to her.  It had been the first thing she said since her release from her cell.  “Go home.”  Simon wasn’t sure what she meant.  Home to George?  Home to her son?  Whichever situation Winona meant, Simon knew that anywhere but here would bring her home – whether it was death and a reunion with her husband, or a reunion with her son.  Either way, Winona Kirk would go home. 

Did she even remember that her baby boy had survived?  Simon hoped he was still alive.  If he wasn’t, then this escape would still be for nothing.  _“A family that begins and ends in an act of treason…”_   He remembered overhearing it, all of it, then watching as the Empress ordered the Caitian’s tongue removed, thinking no one else but her and her two most trusted advisors witnessed the captured alien’s words.  But Simon van Gelder had heard them, only seven hours before he had been seized on the Empress’s orders about his device, before he had watched the event that drove Winona Kirk mad – the execution of her son, Sam.  Those seven hours had been crucial, and he had succeeded.  He stole the newborn boy and delivered him to his sister, who was on her way off-planet to live on a distant colony.  She did not ask his reasons, but swore to inform the boy when he grew of his true identity.  Until then, James Tiberius Kirk would become James van Gelder. 

Simon’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice beyond the doors.  “Sealed, sir.”

“Break through.” 

They had only minutes left to succeed.  He looked back to the Vulcan and the Scotsman.  They were intently focused on their tasks.  They had not heard.  Simon went to the Scotsman’s abandoned rifle and picked it up with his free hand.  He had both of them now.  “Scotsman, are you ready to leave?” 

His younger friend looked up at him.  “Aye then, laddie.  Live or die, let’s get this over with.” 

“Get on the pad,” Simon told them.  “They’re breaking through the doors.”  His engineering companion backed up onto the pad as he came around the control island.  “I’ll stay behind.”

“You’ve lost it!” he exclaimed. 

Simon shook his head.  “They can’t be allowed to have your equation – even Pike was right about that.”  He stood firm, facing the doors, his twin phaser rifles raised at them.  The control panel for the transporter was at his left.  “I’ll make sure that it remains yours.”

The Scotsman looked ready to violently protest but the Vulcan manhandled him onto the pad.  Winona remained at Simon’s side with no one to direct her.  “George?” she whispered, sounding as heartbroken as she had when her husband had died.  Perhaps she now saw his actions as those of his friend.  He was preparing to give his life for her, just like George did.  But unlike his long dead friend, Simon’s goal was not only for her life, or for her son’s life.  Simon’s purpose was to radically alter the Empire by making sure what he’d heard the Caitian say in the Empress’s audience chamber became reality.  “George, don’t!”

“Go to him, Win,” Simon said.  Even as he said it, he had no idea if he meant for her to go to her husband or to her son.  It didn’t matter now.  “Go.”  If they succeeded, he hoped that James would keep his mother safe.  Otherwise he would be practically gifting her to Pike, who would never deserve her. 

Spock came back for Winona, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and led her to the transporter pad.  He steadied her against him before meeting Simon’s eyes.  “Thank you, Vulcan, for keeping your word.” 

Spock nodded to him deeply.  “Many years ago, a brave young man once told me that in every revolution, there’s one man with a vision.” Simon heard the doors begin to give.  “That this man’s vision can change the present, and thus summon the future of his choosing.”  He raised his hand and parted his middle and ring fingers to form a strange V-shape.  “I am honored to have known that man, Mister van Gelder.”

Simon looked quickly at the doors.  “See that the future changes, Mister Spock.” 

“I will.” 

Simon looked one last time at Winona, into her eyes, knowing he would see her sadness, but he had to look at her.  She shook as she refused to let her tears fall.  Winona nodded at him.  “Energizing,” he said to his companions, as he made the command for their departure.  He watched Winona fade away until he looked only at the wall behind where she had stood. 

The doors burst open in an explosion.  Before the entryway had cleared, Simon fell to the floor, his knee radiating agony in a level he had never before known.  Someone shot him through the smoke.  Two men came running into the room.  The first one saw him and the second went to the communications switch.  “Doctor Adams!” he shouted into the pick-up.  “We have a man down and a prisoner wounded.”  Adams wasn’t with them?  Confusion struck Simon hard.  Why wasn’t he here?  

He looked quickly at his ruined knee, knowing instantly that he would never rise again.  He heard the charge of a phaser aimed in his direction.  “How many escaped on the transporter?”  Simon, knowing he could not fail in this moment, raised both rifles and fired before the guard trained on him even realized it.  Both men fell to the ground.  Simon screamed as the pain from his knee overwhelmed his senses.  Then he remembered.  The transporter controls were still activated.  The equation remained available.  He’d promised the Scotsman it would not fall into anyone else’s hands.  He tried to lift his arm to aim the rifle, but he cried out as he lost his strength.  Then he saw it.  The hand phaser in the guard’s hand.  The one that had been charged to kill him where he lied.  He dragged himself to the guard’s body, wrestling the smaller phaser from his limp hand.  He no longer had the strength to lift the rifles.  They were too heavy for his depleted strength.

“Van Gelder!” cried Doctor Adams as he rushed through the destroyed doorway, gripping his own smaller phaser with both of his hands.  He looked around at the three bodies in the room, before turning rage-filled eyes on Simon.  “What have you done?”

Just as he smiled at his judge, Simon van Gelder smiled at his jailor.  “Summoned the future,” he replied.  He raised the lighter phaser and fired three rapid shots at the transporter controls and its memory banks.  He heard Adams screaming as though from a long distance away.  The flames and the sparks exploding from those controls were beautiful to see.  Not since he’d smuggled the infant James Kirk from the clutches of the Empress had Simon felt this feeling of peace, of accomplishment.  He barely felt pain as Adams fired on him.  His pain didn’t matter anymore.  They’d succeeded.

Everything was about to change. 


	13. Demands and Compromises

He dutifully waited for Kirk to make the first move before he took his seat.  McCoy knew that this was not the time to openly question Kirk, or to trade barbs with him.  Not during this meeting with this mysterious Romulan Commander and her Vulcan Subcommander.  Even though Sarek had briefly discussed his exiled son, McCoy never thought he would have the opportunity of meeting the rogue Vulcan personally.  Sybok’s physical presence made McCoy second-guess his imaginative skills.  He’d gotten him completely wrong.  He thought he would have been a little more like Spockh, but Sybok was everything that Spockh was not.  His height and build made Spockh look delicate in comparison.  When Sybok flanked his commander, he looked monstrous. 

The top of the Romulan Commander’s head reached Sybok’s shoulder.  He towered over her, which made the fact the she commanded her ship despite her small stature an impressive feat.  The two crewmen they brought with them were taller than their commander, but shorter than Sybok.  The gruff Vulcan commanded the attention of everyone physically, but once the Romulan Commander began to speak, no one could resist giving her their full attention.  Her presence and strength of voice accepted nothing less. 

His captain led their party into the rarely-used briefing room, his young Vulcan to his left.  Kirk’s hand still rested on Spockh’s lower back, his thumb curled around the sash at the Vulcan’s waist.  Kevin Reilly, the man Kirk chose at the last minute to join this meeting, preceded them into this room, and headed to a chair that was two down from the one all of the humans in the present company knew Kirk would most likely choose.  He did not sit. 

Kirk stood behind the chair directly beyond the room’s doors.  McCoy knew why Kirk chose this position.  It was the chair closest to the exit, and there was only one from this room.  Should a meeting ever go awry, the person seated in that place would be the one most likely to survive any violent encounter or murderous eruption.  Kirk pushed on Spockh’s spine just enough to silently tell the Vulcan that Kirk wanted him to take the seat immediately to his left.  Spockh stepped out of Kirk’s grasp and followed Reilly’s lead, standing at the chair. 

McCoy caught Sarek’s gaze before pointedly looking at the chair to Kirk’s right.  Sarek understood immediately and went to it.  Uhura circled behind McCoy with T’Pau, in essence leading the Romulan party around the table after them.  The communications officer chose the head of the elongated oval table, most likely to be at a visual advantage when it came to reading the lips of both the Romulans and the Vulcans during this meeting should either species decide to speak in their native languages.  However, even McCoy knew that while Uhura’s Romulan skill was nearly perfect, her Vulcan needed a little more work to match that level of proficiency.  T’Pau took the seat to Uhura’s right, then one of the Romulan crewmen.  The Romulan Commander herself stared calmly at Kirk, assessing him, measuring him, before she decided to place herself directly across from him.  Sybok, her loyal and vigilant Subcommander stood always at her side.  Finally, the last Romulan stood at rest to Sybok’s right.  As Kirk and the Romulan Commander stared at each other across the table, studying their opponent, McCoy let his mind wander back several minutes to the transporter room. 

 

_T’Pau stood just behind the transparent protective wall that allowed for safe observation of the transporter pad.  Sarek stood one step behind and to the right of her.  McCoy took his place at the Vulcan’s side.  He would not stand in front of him or behind him.  If they were bondmates, then Leonard McCoy was determined to present Sarek as his equal, not his slave.  He no longer wore the bindings of a captive, and they had been bonded in the way of the Vulcan people.  They were equals.  Just not in the eyes of any other Terran aboard this ship._

_The open archway between the pad and the control area was the size of a standard door on the rest of the ship – wide enough for two average people to walk through if they strode closely side-by-side.  Occupying that archway stood Spockh.  McCoy knew that as soon as Kirk finished speaking through the voice-pickup with the Romulans, he would join Spockh in that archway.  McCoy was curious as to whether Kirk would choose to stand in front of Spockh or beside him.  He glanced to his right, spotting Uhura between Lieutenant Kyle and Kirk.  Kirk wanted her here in case the Romulans decided against speaking in Standard.  He needed Uhura._

_“Prepare to transport.”_

_The doors to the transporter room opened and everyone turned to look.  Kevin Reilly hurried to Kirk, who looked livid.  “Where the hell’s Mitchell?”_

_Kevin shrank a little but his voice remained steady.  “He sent me here in his place.”_

_Kirk grabbed Kyle’s hand to prevent the transporter technician from completing the beaming of the Romulans to the Enterprise.  It probably would not be wise to let them hear the first officer’s reason for sending someone else to meet their guests.  “Why?”_

_Kevin cleared his throat.  “Captain, we’ve just detected a signal approaching our location.”  He handed Kirk a padd and pointed to two locations on it.  McCoy presumed they were the locations of their ship and this mysterious signal.  “We think it’s a ship.”_

_“More Romulans?” Kirk asked, studying the readout._

_Kevin shook his head.  “Not Romulan, but other than that unknown, Sir.”_

_Kirk quickly took out his communicator.  “Kirk to Bridge.”_

_“Mitchell here.”_

_Kirk’s expression twisted in annoyance.  “If you ever arbitrarily refuse an order to report to any location on my ship I’ll throw you in the booth again and leave you there until you’re barely alive.  If I order you to be here, you will be here.  Am I clear?”_

_“I figured that as first officer, my duty was to manage the bridge in your absence while you play diplomat, Captain.”  Before Kirk could retaliate, Mitchell continued.  “Besides, an unknown threat to our ship is important enough for one of us to be here.  I doubt you’d want me to handle these Romulan scum instead of you during your little meeting.”_

_McCoy saw Kirk’s temper rising.  But even he had to admit that Mitchell was right.  Both of them weren’t needed to have a little talk with their Romulan guests.  And with something unknown – friendly or not – heading their way, either the captain or first officer should command the bridge.  Kirk would never let Mitchell near Spockh alone again.  Which meant that Kirk would speak with the Romulans, while Mitchell would remain on the bridge.  Mitchell certainly knew how to make it seem like Kirk’s leadership grew weaker with each encounter they had.  He wondered why Kirk even made him his first officer.  Mitchell was becoming more trouble for Kirk than he may be worth.  McCoy wanted to help his friend, but he had no idea how._

_Kirk took a deep breath through his nose.  “You have the bridge, Mitchell.  When you figure out what exactly is coming at us—”_

_“I’ll let you know,” Mitchell interrupted._

_“Immediately!” Kirk snapped._

_Mitchell chuckled.  “As you order.  Mitchell out.”_

_Kirk snapped his communicator shut, and then leaned heavily on the edge of the transporter control console for a moment as he replaced his device at his waist.  He hit the voice pickup to the Romulan vessel.  “Energizing, Commander.”  He nodded at Lieutenant Kyle.  The distinct hum of the transporter sounded in the room, the steps between the platform and the floor glowed green, and four bright figures began to take shape on the platform’s pads._

_Spockh stood alone in front of him, so McCoy didn’t have to avert his gaze from the direction of the transporter pads to see Kirk come to stand close to his Vulcan’s side.  His captain left very little space between them.  As the Romulan party became clear and fully transported, Kirk brought his left hand up behind Spockh and pressed it flat against the lumbar region of the Vulcan’s spine, the tips of his fingers lightly playing with the gold fabric tied around his body._

_Just as the platform steps changed from green to white, the smallest figure – and the only female – looked straight at Kirk, her expression mocking him.  “Was there trouble with your transporter, Captain?”_

_He saw Kirk tense up and try to hide it by straightening his posture.  He watched as the hand he’d rested leisurely at Spockh’s back curled around the golden sash tightly, restraining Spockh like he would a disobedient dog by the collar.  McCoy glanced back to their newly arrived guests and saw that none of them failed to notice not only Kirk’s tension, but also Spockh’s rigidity at his side.  He looked at the male standing next to the female Romulan Commander.  He must be Sybok.  His gaze alone held the same penetrative intensity as T’Pau.  As he took in Kirk and Spockh, Sybok’s eyes shone with disapproval.  Or disgust.  McCoy couldn’t be sure.  A subdued blue fabric dominated his right shoulder, while his commander wore a dark magenta in the same location.  A glance at the shoulders of their other two companions led McCoy to suspect that the magenta and blue were indicative of their ranks.  It was not that dissimilar to the uniforms of the Terran Empire, then._

_Kirk’s non-answering reply jarred McCoy from his study of the Romulans.  “This way,” he ordered, gesturing for Kevin Reilly to lead them all from the transporter room.  He heard Kirk quietly tell him where he should lead them.  Kirk glanced briefly at him and McCoy knew instantly that he wanted him to follow directly behind him.  Sarek would be at his side.  McCoy didn’t like the idea of their Romulan guests walking behind all of them, until he heard Kirk snap at Farrell and Wolfe as they left the room, “Bring up the rear after the Romulans.  If they try anything, kill them.”_

_They proceeded to their destination without urgency, but McCoy noticed that Sarek could not take his gaze from the possessive way that Kirk directed Spockh through the corridors.  His husband could not look away from Kirk’s fist enclosed around the sash, pressing into Spockh’s back during the entire walk.  Kirk’s fist looked like a perpetual punch to the boy, and McCoy knew that Sarek’s guilt rose with every step their group took.  He wished there was something he could say or do to lessen that guilt._

“To business, Commander,” Kirk said, finally moving to sit.  Everyone gathered in the room followed his example.  

The Romulan Commander lowered herself into a comfortable position with a grace that McCoy had never seen.  It had the fluidity of a dancer, but the confidence of one unaccustomed to failure.  “I would prefer this to take as little time as possible.  I have no desire to be aboard your vessel longer than necessary.”  Kirk opened his mouth to reply, but she denied him the opportunity to speak.  “You are pursuing the rogue identified as Nero.  I have my suspicions as to why, but they don’t change my offer.”  She smirked at McCoy’s captain.  “Fortunately for you, I am in a position to prevent him from achieving asylum in Romulan space and thus become safe from your Empire.”

He knew the instant Kirk became intrigued by her words.  “How?” he asked. 

The petite Romulan relaxed in her chair.  “Nero would have to get the approval of the Praetor for protection against your Terran Empire’s right to vengeance.”

Kirk’s brow came together in suspicion.  “Why would your Praetor deny him?”

She slowly turned her head to gaze at the tall male seated to her right.  He had the air of self-assurance and easy confidence.  When she answered Kirk’s question, her gaze remained on the male wearing blue on his shoulder.  “I am the Praetor’s niece, and my consort is a Vulcan.”  Any doubts that McCoy had about that male’s identity as possibly being Sybok disappeared in that sentence.  The Romulan Commander swept her eyes around the occupants of the long table as she continued her explanation.  “The Praetor is bound by our peoples’ ethics to guarantee the right of someone who had been wronged to seek justice from the one that committed that harm.  He will do what he must so that our empire will not interfere with one’s right to vengeance—” McCoy thought it interesting that she used the words justice and vengeance interchangeably.  “—especially when that right belongs to a member of his own family.”  The last she directed at Spockh. 

Spokch tilted his head in curiosity and confusion.  “But,” he began in Standard, but then he switched to his native language.  “I’tu vrekasht.”

McCoy looked right at Uhura, who looked just as confused as he felt.  She didn’t understand what Spockh said.  Her Vulcan was definitely not as well-practiced as her Romulan.  He now knew that for certain.  Not knowing if it would help, he looked at Sarek, knowing that his lack of comprehension was clear in his expression.  Sarek didn’t even hesitate to act, but neither did he shift his attention from his sons.  He simply reached his hand toward McCoy until it covered his own.  This soft touch was all it took for McCoy to hear his husband speaking to him in his mind.  ‘But, you are Outcasted.’  McCoy understood that Sarek, through their physical touch, translated what Spockh had said. 

When Sybok replied, Sarek did not translate for McCoy.  He heard Sybok as though he were speaking Standard.  He would have sworn he was speaking Standard, except for the fact that his mouth’s movements didn’t match what he heard in his head.  He looked at Sarek, shocked.  Sarek still didn’t look at him, but he seemed to know what McCoy tried to say even though his voice failed him.  Sarek removed his hand from McCoy’s and he didn’t understand anything Sybok said again.  As soon as Sarek touched him again, McCoy could understand.  He concluded that something like this must be a benefit of having a bond with Sarek.  He could understand the Vulcan language, but only as long as they were touching. 

“My family abandoned me, Spockh, rejected me,” said Sybok, but with no malice in his voice, only a cold recitation of facts.  “That doesn’t mean that I, in turn, abandoned them.  You, in particular, I could never abandon because you didn’t even exist when I was exiled.  Therefore, I can’t blame you nor hold you responsible for what has become of my life since our father banished me.”  Sybok flashed a comfortable smile at his commander.  “I am not implying that I regret my current status, or situation, h’levreinnye.”  The warmth in his expression vanished as he turned his attention to T’Pau and Sarek.  “I lay those charges solely on those deserving of such faults.” 

McCoy decided then that he did not trust Sybok.  He didn’t like him either.  Danger radiated from the Vulcan.  Kirk must be aware of it.  That he might not fully grasp the situation in which they all found themselves in this room unnerved McCoy.  He glanced at Kirk, who kept his face aggressive but otherwise blank, revealing nothing of his thoughts.  He wanted to share with Kirk his impressions of Sybok, but there was no way to do that without probably being the rogue Vulcan’s next menacing target – a situation he had no desire to endure.  This meeting proved tense enough. 

‘You cannot warn him, my mate,’ Sarek’s voice sounded in McCoy’s mind.  He looked at his husband.  Sarek did not look at him in return.  ‘I only hope that your captain is as perceptive as you are regarding Sybok’s character.’

He knew he didn’t mask the emotions in his face.  ‘Someone has to make sure he knows.’  Usually that someone ended up being him, but he suspected Sarek could deduce that on his own. 

He did.  ‘And someone will inform him if such intervention is required.’  Sarek’s attempt to reassure McCoy did absolutely nothing to comfort him.  He frowned as he turned his focus back on the discussion going on around the table.  Immediately he figured out that he missed a bit of the discussion.  That probably had something to do with his mind-talking with his husband.  It was certainly convenient, but it would still take some time to fully grow accustomed to it. 

Sybok was translating quietly to his commander, who listened closely, though her gaze stayed with Kirk.  Beside Kirk sat Spockh, quietly sitting straight and still, though his eyes darted between Sybok, the Romulan Commander, and Kirk like a skittish animal.  The boy was clearly nervous, but McCoy couldn’t be sure if he worried about the outcome of this meeting itself, how Kirk would react to Sybok, how Sybok would react to Kirk, and ultimately what any of those would mean for himself.  He would be wiling to wager it was a combination of all of them that had the young Vulcan so fidgety.  Kevin looked decidedly uncomfortable near the Romulan crewman, despite the extra chair between them.  He swept his gaze past Sybok and his commander again, landing on T’Pau.  She seemed to disregard the presence of her exiled grandson completely.  Perhaps, even now, she truly considered him dead to their family.  She pierced Kirk with her violet eyes, studying everything about the man that held her grandson captive.  Kirk, meanwhile, allowed his eyes to wander to Uhura, who watched and listened to Sybok’s translation carefully.  By the time Sybok had finished, Uhura flicked her dark eyes at her captain and sharply nodded.  Sybok’s translation stayed with Kirk’s Standard.  He did not reword anything.  Kirk looked back at his visitors as Sybok began to rapidly translate as the female commander spoke to Kirk.

“We’ll assist you in the pursuit and capture of the Narada vessel.  However, for our efforts and our diverting the necessary additional ships to this cause, we will keep the red matter.”

Kirk’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  McCoy knew what the Romulan referred to, the red matter having been discussed briefly upon the landing party’s return from the doomed planet Vulcan.  They had witnessed the powerful drill, and thus saw a contained red object plummet into the drilled area, which thus triggered the implosion of the planet.  This tiny object could create a black hole.  If McCoy knew what this material was and what it could do, then there was no possible way that Kirk did not know of it.  When Kirk replied with, “You mean the device Nero used to destroy Vulcan?” he knew Kirk would never agree.  The captain chuckled to himself.  “No,” he refused through his amusement.  “That stays with me.”

A small strangled sound to Kirk’s left caught McCoy’s attention.  It came from Spockh, who looked at Kirk with wide pleading eyes.  McCoy couldn’t see Kirk’s face, but he saw him sigh.  A smile he tried to deny nevertheless forced the corners of his mouth upward when he understood that Spockh had silently begged Kirk to at least try to negotiate.  Apparently, Kirk listened.  “For your efforts, I will release forty Vulcans into your care.  They’ll be unharmed.”

He felt shock that was not only his own.  Looking at Sarek, he knew by the slight widening of his eyes that his Vulcan was as surprised by the offer as himself.  Peering around Sarek, McCoy caught sight of Spockh.  His lips parted just enough to clearly transform his expression from pleading to shock. 

“One hundred,” the Romulan counteroffered through Sybok.

Kirk didn’t hesitate. “Sixty.”

Sybok did not wait for his commander to respond.  Instead, Bones found Sybok looking directly at him, asking him specifically, “How many are currently on board?”

He found Sybok intimidating.  He knew the Vulcan could likely kill him before he’d even realized that he’d been attacked.  Without even consciously being aware of it, McCoy answered, unable to stop himself.  “Including kids, there’s about—”

“Silence, Doctor!” Kirk snapped.  McCoy obeyed, wondering why he’d even answered Sybok to begin with.  A strange sensation came over him then, as though he’d been lowered into a soothing therapeutic bath.  When he felt Sarek’s thumb trace the side of his palm, McCoy understood that his husband chose to comfort him.  This would take some getting used to. 

“It doesn’t matter how many I have,” Kirk growled at Sybok.  “I’m giving you sixty.”

The Romulan Commander tensed and growled back at Kirk.  Though her words required Sybok’s translation, he kept her inflection.  “How many of those sixty will be children?” 

“Why?  What will you do with them?” 

Sybok answered instead of the commander.  “Unlike you, Captain, keep them safe.”  It earned him a fierce glare from Kirk, and McCoy knew why.  Sybok had not been present when Bensen had agonized a Vulcan girl, a small child, who desperately tried to stay with her mother.  Sybok wasn’t there when the man struck Kirk, ignoring his command to leave the girl alone, and continued to torture her. Sybok didn’t see how Kirk reacted instantly by slitting Bensen’s throat – not for the punch the man gave Kirk’s jaw, but for disobeying his order to let the child go.  McCoy knew that children on this ship would be safe under Kirk’s command. What he didn’t know was how safe they would be with Sybok on this Romulan’s ship. 

“You mean to train them to hate the Terran Empire.”  Kirk stated it, not asked it.  Sybok stabbed Kirk with his eyes.  Kirk returned his gaze.  In Sybok’s unvoiced reaction, McCoy knew that Kirk’s words were correct.

In that tense silence, Spockh quietly began to speak.  “Captain, please, we must—”

“We must do nothing!” Kirk drawled, his gaze never leaving Sybok.  “ _You_ must be silent.”

Spockh gasped quietly, his posture wilting in his seat and his gaze fell.  Sybok laughed softly.  “So obedient to your master, brother.”  Spockh reacted as though Sybok had struck him.  He looked at his older brother with wounded, helpless eyes.

“Enough of this!” the Romulan Commander barked.  It took Bones a moment to realize that it was Uhura who translated for her aloud in that moment.  Sybok had been too preoccupied with taunting his brother.  The female commander looked at Uhura and nodded, impressed, before shooting a meaningful look at her subcommander.  He sighed and resumed translation as she continued to address Kirk.  “Captain, I will not separate families.  Of your offered sixty, they will be those either left without family, or a complete family unit.” 

This demand urged McCoy to search Kirk for his reaction.  None displayed on his face.  He didn’t even need to look at him to know how Kirk would answer.  He’d been in the same situation several days ago when he’d been dispensing hypo injections to the captive Vulcans, and Sarek, the resignation and sadness obvious in his voice as he repeatedly asked about his son.  It had been Sarek’s concern for Spockh that gave McCoy the idea of their arrangement.  It was why it had so far worked as effectively as it had been.  Family meant leverage.  McCoy knew that Kirk would never hand over that advantage. 

“You’ll accept whatever sixty I give you, whether they’re children or not, with family or not, healthy or if they’re infirm, or if they’re just useless to me.  I’m sure I can find sixty pathetic Vulcans from my stock for you.”  The Romulan Commander opened her mouth, her expression clear that she intended to object.  Kirk did not allow her to do so.  “Sixty,” he repeated, his voice hard.  “Or none at all.”

It took a moment before she replied.  “Then you will lose our assistance and gain us for an enemy alongside Nero.”

Kirk grinned then leaned back in his chair comfortably.  “Are you pretending that you’ll attack my ship if I followed Nero into Romulan Space?  We both know you won’t, not as long as I have Vulcans on my ship.  Especially these three.”  He smiled at her then, knowing he’d claimed the victory in that moment. 

The silent tension stilled everyone in the room as they awaited the Romulan’s response.  “Very well,” she conceded.  “Sixty Vulcans will transfer to me.”

Kirk’s smile did not fade.  “So long as you keep Nero out of Romulan Space.”

She nodded.  “Indeed, Human.”

Kirk ignored the insult.  “Done, Commander.”

Sybok shifted in his seat, turning to his commander, and only managing one word before she stared him down.  “Be silent, Subcommander!”  Sybok’s mouth closed, the tension of his jaw clearly showing his dissatisfaction. 

To McCoy’s surprise, it was Spockh who spoke up.  “So obedient to your master, brother.”  Sybok did not say anything to his brother throwing his own words and insult back at him, but he did look at him in offended rage.  Spockh, the little spitfire, McCoy thought with approval, just gazed at his brother calmly.  McCoy tried not to laugh, succeeding only because he allowed a smirk. 

Kirk, however, smiled freely as he ran his hand from Spockh’s bandaged wrist to his upper arm.  “My Vulcan’s feisty, isn’t he?”  Keeping his smile, Kirk yanked on Spockh’s arm, almost dislodging him fully from his seat.  Spockh steadied himself by gripping the edge of the large table.  Kirk got close to Spockh, but he didn’t bother lowering his voice.  “But if you speak again, I’ll find something else to keep your mouth busy.” 

He felt Sarek’s alarm and disgust.  McCoy had no idea if his husband could hear his thoughts, but he figured it was worth the attempt to project his doubts to Sarek that Kirk would carry out that warning.  He wouldn’t force Spockh sexually, publicly, not here in front of these four Romulans.  It was an empty threat.  McCoy knew he wouldn’t do it, but the Romulan party certainly had no way of knowing that.  Sarek lost a fraction of his tension.  It seemed the Vulcan could hear him after all. 

Sybok’s voice diverted Kirk’s attention on Spockh.  “If you command his silence, then what use is my brother to you?  And what use do you possibly have for children?”  The disgust began to show in his expression.  “Do you enjoy them at your own whim?  Abuse them?”  He nodded at Spockh’s wrists, pointedly.  “You have clearly abused him.”

Kirk had stiffened as soon as Sybok implied that he abused Vulcan children.  McCoy had long known about Kirk’s intolerance for such a thing, even before the events of today in Sickbay.  But because of that incident, he also knew that everyone else here, the crew and the Vulcans, knew how Kirk felt about such actions.  Only their four guests did not.  “I don’t torture children, Vulcan,” Kirk said darkly, his hand on Spockh’s arm going up to curl around the back of the Vulcan’s neck, rubbing the flesh there slowly.  He was working away his anger by making his claim on Spockh even more obvious.  “But this one’s proven useful to me.”

Sybok tilted his head in offense.  “You imply sexual use.”  McCoy would be lying if he were to say that Sybok’s blunt statement did not surprise him. 

Kirk smiled as his hand at Spockh’s neck turned rhythmic, massaging him.  “And if I meant that?”  Spockh tensed in embarrassment and mortification. 

This time, Sybok smiled.  “Then I would name you a liar, Captain.  For in your assault of Spockh you have negated your own claim.  You do indeed torture children.”  McCoy saw the smile disappear from Kirk’s lips, and saw his hand cease its massaging on Spockh’s neck.  It stilled as Sybok’s words registered, and only tensed as the Vulcan kept speaking.  “Tell me, is it only my brother that you have defiled or have you taken other children to your bed?”

Kirk’s hand fell away from Spockh’s body.  He looked shocked and disgusted by Sybok’s words.  Sybok straightened in victory as he watched Kirk’s reaction.  He looked far too pleased with himself and his words.  McCoy saw Spockh turn to Kirk, his eyes blown wide in terrified panic.  “Captain, I—”

He couldn’t see Kirk’s face as he rounded on Spockh and hissed, “You’re a child?”

For the second time since they gathered in this room, Spockh looked as though he’d been physically struck.  “I—”

A wave of nausea washed over him.  In an instant, McCoy knew it came from Sarek. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”  Kirk’s voice began to rise.  Spockh shrank from him. 

The nausea increased.  “Sarek,” McCoy began to ask.  “Are you al—”

Abruptly, Sarek rose to his feet, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.  “I would speak with you alone, Kirk,” he demanded, somehow keeping his voice steady.  Kirk looked back once to Spockh, whose body began to tremble in his chair.  With a sharp nod, Kirk stood and led Sarek from the room. 

“You cannot tell me you were unaware!” bellowed Sybok as the doors slid shut after they left.  McCoy didn’t know if he said it towards Kirk or Sarek.  Sybok stood gracefully from his seat and slowly began to walk around the table, his eyes trained on Spockh.  “Did he sell you to that human?  And for what?  For his own life, his own safety?”  Spockh stood as his brother neared him.  Now that they were both on their feet and close to each other, the differences in their physical stature became obvious.  Sybok had been honed and shaped by combat, his musculature well-defined and proud.  Unlike Sybok, Spockh’s slender figure hid his strength.  He was smaller than his exiled brother, and both of them were obviously strong.  It was when they stood near each other that their strength presented itself in completely different and unmistakable ways.  The elder brother’s strength was physical, external.  Spockh kept his strength internal, secured in his very essence.  And it had never been more obvious to McCoy than at that moment.  “In that respect, that self-preservation, it seems that our father has not changed.”

Spockh faced Sybok firmly.  “You do not know what has occurred since our arrival here.”  For a reason he could not name, McCoy grew nervous quickly.  It almost sounded like a challenge.

Sybok’s hand shot forward, accepting that challenge, and grabbed Spockh’s neck, holding him immobile.  His other hand rose slower, deliberately.  “Then, show me, brother.”

Spockh feebly tried to pull away.  “No!”

With a speed McCoy didn’t expect, T’Pau stood.  “Sybok!” she cried.  “Kroykah!”

Sybok pressed the fingers of his free hand against Spockh’s face.  McCoy recognized it, having endured the procedure when he had bonded to Sarek.  Sybok was forcing a mindmeld on Spockh.  The younger Vulcan tried to escape, to back away, pull from Sybok’s hold, but his elder brother only gripped his neck harder and pulled him closer.  McCoy watched as Sybok pressed his fingers harder against Spockh’s face, occasionally shifting their position as though searching for something.  Spockh gasped the first time Sybok’s fingers slid into a new position, groaned at the second repositioning, and on the third shift Spockh cried out sharply.  Sybok closed his eyes and brought his brother close enough to him so that he could rest their foreheads together, using the hand he had wrapped around Spockh’s neck to tilt his face upward a fraction.  He pressed his fingers into him harder.  Spockh began to scream. 

Just as McCoy took a step towards them, Sybok abruptly released Spockh, who collapsed to the floor at his brother’s feet.  Sybok’s hands were still raised in the positions in which he’d held Spockh.  He looked down at his fallen brother in clear shock and confusion.  But McCoy did not recognize the look in Sybok’s eyes as the Vulcan met T’Pau’s furious gaze.  McCoy did, however, see her nod deeply at Sybok.  He had no idea if they were talking like Sarek talked to him, or if Vulcans had a mystical silent language that he didn’t know about.  At that moment, he didn’t care either.

He cared about the youngest Vulcan in the room.  He went to Spockh, who had curled into himself on the floor, shaking.  “Hey,” he called to him.  He rested his hand on Spockh’s shoulder as he lowered himself to his knees in front of his stepson.  “Hey, kiddo, look at me.”  Spockh raised his head just enough to make eye contact with him.  “There.  Good,” he encouraged him.  Uncertain if Spockh even wanted physical contact at the moment, McCoy hesitantly reached for him, intending to help him sit up by his shoulders. 

He determined that his timidity wasn’t necessary as Spockh finally spoke, his voice barely managed to whisper.  “Leonard, I—” 

McCoy heard Sybok and the Romulan Commander arguing loudly and quickly on the other side of the table, but he couldn’t care less about either of them at that moment.  “Come on.”  Spockh managed to sit up with McCoy’s help.  He thought that from there they’d get him to his feet.  Spockh held onto McCoy’s right shoulder as he prepared to get up, the doctor expecting the boy to use him as support to stand.  He certainly didn’t expect Spockh to drift towards him, and fold his body against him, letting his hands slide to his chest, and burying his face against McCoy’s shoulder.  Even before he felt Spockh gather the fabric of his shirt in his still shaking hands, McCoy reached up with his left hand and held Spockh’s head against his shoulder.  “Are you okay?  Did he hurt you?”

McCoy winced at his own question.  Of course he hurt the kid.  What a stupid question to ask him.  Spockh nodded into his shoulder, but then seemed to change his mind and turned his affirmative gesture into one of denial.  McCoy had no idea what to say to him, and instead settled with winding his other arm around Spockh and holding him against him as he trembled in the aftermath of his brother’s attack.  “You’ll be okay, kiddo.  You’ll be okay.”

As he waited for Spockh to recover, he looked around.  T’Pau still stood tense near her seat, but her eyes were on him and his interaction with Spockh.  Oddly, she seemed to approve of his actions.  He still could hear the Romulan Commander and Sybok speaking quickly, but he had no idea what they were saying.  One glance at Uhura and McCoy knew that even she had difficulty in following their rapid argument.  That she couldn’t follow their conversation filled McCoy with a sense of dread. 

The doors opened to permit Sarek and Kirk’s return.  Sarek took in the situation in an instant.  Kirk took a moment longer.  He saw McCoy on the floor holding Spockh against him, and immediately he lashed out at their guests.  “What the fuck happened?”  Sybok’s argument went silent, and everyone looked at the irate human captain. 

“Come on, kiddo,” McCoy whispered to Spockh, taking the Vulcan with him as he stood.  “Up you go.”  He settled him into his seat gently.  Kirk’s eyes were riveted on Spockh, but he made sure to face away from the Romulans.  McCoy knew he did it to hide the open concern on his face.  He knew he cared about his Vulcan prize, and not as just an object to slake his lust.  McCoy caught Kirk’s eyes and tried to convey that Spockh was unharmed.  He wasn’t entirely sure if Kirk understood, though.  The young captain planted his hand on Spockh’s shoulder, squeezing slightly, before he turned his anger back to the Romulan party.  “Tell me what the fuck you just did to him or—”

Sybok ignored Kirk completely.  He began speaking to Sarek.  McCoy didn’t even try to disguise his haste in reaching his husband.  Sybok spoke in Vulcan, and so long as he could touch Sarek’s skin he’d be able to understand.  And he wanted to understand.  He reached out and grabbed Sarek’s wrist.  As expected, McCoy began to understand Sybok’s words.  “—all that you held dear, Sarek.”

Sarek straightened his stance authoritatively as he snapped his reply.  “You will speak Standard.  What you would say to me is nothing these humans cannot hear.”

Sybok grinned wickedly.  “As you wish,” he replied in their language.  When he continued, he used Standard words.  He repeated what he had said in Vulcan.  “I had intended to remove all that you held dear, Sarek.  But it seems that Nero has already taken care of your human whore.  Now all that remains is your halfbreed son.”

McCoy dropped Sarek’s wrist as Sybok began using Standard.  As soon as he mentioned Sarek’s wife, he looked at Spockh, whose shaking had resumed.  He watched as Kirk leaned down near Spockh’s ear, but not hissing his question quietly enough that his voice did not carry.  “You’re half human?”

“Yes,” Spockh confirmed.  McCoy saw the surprise turn into acceptance in Kirk.  That went better than he thought it would.  Kirk shifted so that he had his hands on both of Spockh’s shoulders.  With them out of any else’s view, McCoy watched as Kirk moved his thumbs in small circles on Spockh’s upper back.  To anyone else, it would look like his hands were planted on the Vulcan’s shoulders.  McCoy, however, could clearly see that Kirk was trying to calm Spockh down.  He wondered if Spockh found the gesture acceptable or offensive. 

Sybok had continued speaking, however, and by doing so, demanded everyone’s attention.  “When my brother came to me for help, I recognized it for an opportunity to hurt you, Sarek, by using him against you.  I then considered simply taking him from you.”  Sybok grinned with approval towards Kirk.  “But I see that this captain has already done that.”  He nodded deeply at the captain.  “I commend you for so easily deducing Sarek’s weakness and exploiting it so effectively.”  McCoy knew that Sybok should be saying that to him and not Kirk, but there was no way for the rogue Vulcan to have known that he had been the orchestrator of this arrangement.  He felt pride that his plan had impressed Sybok.  But that pride dwindled as he became aware of Sarek’s growing displeasure and sadness. 

Sybok looked back to Sarek, his satisfaction plain as Sarek continued to wilt before McCoy’s eyes.  “I have entered Spockh’s mind and I now know everything, Sarek.  All of what you have caused to happen to your only remaining offspring.”  Sarek struggled to find strength, struggled to even glare at Sybok, but he could not.  His failing fortitude only pleased Sybok more.  “And I now condemn you, Sarek, to watch your last heir suffer endless assaults by this captain, to watch his pain helplessly for the remainder of your life, and to know that your actions and what you have arranged has brought about the end of your line in the noble House of Surak forever.”

As Sybok turned to Kirk next, McCoy saw his captain’s confusion at Sybok’s previous words.  McCoy had been told the story of his husband’s line and their family.  It was apparent that Kirk had not bothered to learn much about his captive.  For a reason he couldn’t clearly name, that realization saddened McCoy. 

“But to you, Captain Kirk, I condemn you to a different kind of suffering.”  Sybok paused to look back at his commander.  She nodded once, deeply and gravely.  Sybok faced Kirk again.  “My Commander has a final offer for your consideration.  These are our last terms, you understand.  We will take no counter offers, no negotiations.  The time for that has long passed.” 

Kirk nodded sharply.  “Make your offer, Vulcan.”

Sybok ignored the way Kirk addressed him.  “When my commander and I depart your vessel, these two gekha accompanying us presently will remain behind.  They will act both as personal guards for my brother as well as combat instructors, teaching him to defend himself as they defend him.  For as his father’s last heir, Spockh is to be a Warrior.”  McCoy did not have to look at Sarek to know his husband was shocked.  But as he looked at T’Pau he saw mirrored in her expression the same one he felt.  Suspicion. 

“Your suffering, Captain,” Sybok continued with deliberate slowness, “is defined by these terms of our offer.  Should my brother come to harm, I will see him removed from your grasp.  Should he die, your life and obviously your captaincy will die with him.  Should harm befall Spockh, this alliance between Terra and Romulus will be voided. My commander will declare it an act of war against our people.  In this event, the denial of asylum for Nero will be withdrawn.  With him then safely protected in Romulan Space, we would not need to acquire his red matter from your Empire.  It will be delivered to us directly through your actions in harming my brother. I assure you that Romulus will not waste such an advantageous weapon.  It will be utilized against Terra, and thus annihilate your people and your empire.  Whatever Terrans manage to survive will be taken into subservient custody—”

“You mean enslave us,” Kirk reworded, tensely.

The Romulan Commander smirked and raised a slanted eyebrow.  “Is this objectionable to you, Captain?”  Uhura translated for her this time.  Sybok continued to stare at Kirk, studying his reaction.  “May I remind you that it is no different than what you have done to the Vulcan people.”  Kirk shifted his weight uncomfortably.  “You see how undesirable a situation it is when you are the one faced with a loss of autonomy.” 

The situation that Sybok outlined for Kirk suddenly became very real and possible to McCoy.  It would take very little to upset the current balance between the Terrans and the Vulcans, to enable both parties to exchange statuses.  All it took was for Kirk to fail to keep his behavior in check, or for Spockh’s safety to be compromised.  McCoy realized in that moment what a terribly delicate situation he’d orchestrated between them.  Because of him, all of them were in danger.  ‘You are not, my mate,’ Sarek said in his head.  ‘I will not harm you.  As my mate, now, you are safe.’ 

“So, you’re threatening me,” Kirk accused Sybok.

The Vulcan shook his head.  “I prefer to say that I am manipulating you.”

“From disciplining my captive.”

Sybok shook his head.  “From mistreating my brother.”

Kirk bristled where he stood.  “And if I reject your terms?”

Sybok’s reply came immediately.  “You have already been informed of your fate, and the fate of all Terrans.”

Uhura’s voice supplied the Romulan Commander’s simple demand.  “Your answer, Captain Kirk.”

He did not give it quickly.  Kirk looked at Sybok, his commander, their guards.  Then he glanced quickly at Kevin, who looked at him fearfully but trustingly.  He looked at T’Pau, but even McCoy could see that she would offer him no guidance.  Neither did Uhura.  She stood rigidly at attention.  Kirk’s gaze lingered on Sarek before he met McCoy’s eyes.  McCoy sighed and held his friend’s gaze, knowing that he dared not offer his opinion here, but hoping that Kirk knew him well enough to see what he wasn’t saying out loud.  Kirk’s lips thinned as he seemed to near a decision after breaking their eye contact.  Finally, Kirk looked down at Spockh, who was seated before him.  He watched as Kirk continued to look at the young Vulcan silently, his eyes wandering Spockh’s figure as though he were trying to memorize him.  Spockh shifted like he could physically feel Kirk’s eyes on him. 

“Your answer, Captain Kirk,” Uhura said again when the Romulan Commander spoke again, her voice harsher than the first time. 

Spockh then looked up at Kirk.  They stared at each other, both still and silent.  After what seemed far longer than it likely had been, Kirk finally answered, struggling to keep his voice steady.  “Done.”  Spockh closed his eyes in relief, his tension melting from his body. 

“A wise choice, indeed, Captain, to choose an alliance,” Uhura translated for the Romulan Commander.  “We are a better ally than an enemy.  And now, we will be returning to our vessel.” 

The purpose of their discussion now ended, the Romulan Commander barked a simple order to the other two Romulans that had accompanied them and they circled to their left around the table, walking behind Uhura, T’Pau, Sarek, and McCoy.  Only Sybok chose to go the other way, so that he would have to walk past Spockh.  Sybok halted by Kirk, lowering his voice dangerously.  “A last advice: Tread very carefully, Kirk.”  Then, Sybok followed his commander from the room. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Separating the Young had been a mindless task.  Getting them all to their destinations followed as surprisingly simple.  They cooperated in the sullen and somber manner of those who knew they were much weaker than their captors and as such had no choice but to submit to anything commanded of them.  And after Bensen had been killed in the middle of Sickbay for agonizing the Vulcan girl, not a single member of Security even tried to use a weapon on another child.  _Clearly_ , Chekov thought to himself, _they had no wish to die yet._   And if they did, he had his phaser held ready.

And it wasn’t set to stun. 

He’d led the groups of children to their temporary community quarters in one of the ships recreational rooms.  Unlike the adult Vulcans who were separated according to their statuses in their culture, the Young had been separated into groups based on their ages.  They began with separating and escorting the oldest of the Young, thinking that it would become easier to control the children the younger they got.  The first to leave were any adult females who either had newborns in their arms, or children so small they could not communicate with words.  They were the only adults to avoid being placed among their castes.  It had been Doctor McCoy that advised Captain Kirk to allow the pregnant females to remain in Sickbay.  Chekov had been surprised by Kirk’s agreement to the idea.  He had not been surprised when Kirk amended McCoy’s suggestion by demanding all pregnant females remain in an isolation ward. 

During separation, there were several instances where some of the Young claimed to be paired to each other, and thus refused to be separated, despite the limit of Vulcans per group.  Chekov had watched as his wife’s sister-in-law persuaded Kirk to allow them their mates.  Apparently, Kirk promised two very young children that he would not separate them when they asked it of him.  T’Pring convinced Kirk that by allowing this the captain had established precedent regarding the separation of mated Young Vulcans.  No one disagreed with her reasoning, and so all of the mated Young were not separated when they were escorted away in their groups. 

Chekov was finally on the last group.  They all ranged from the ages of five to ten years old.  The previous two groups had consisted of Young between eleven and thirteen.  It had been Chekov that made the decision to bring the Young below age five to be housed with the separated mothers.  He knew what it was like to be without parents at such a young age, and he knew that for a telepathic race like these Vulcans, that loss may be an even harder burden to bear for such young children.  He did not tell Kirk he had decided this.  He’d simply done it.  After everything that this race had endured, Chekov knew that young children – Vulcans who could barely speak in full sentences, according to T’Kyi’i – needed something that felt normal, even if it was the company of a mother that would never be their own. 

He keyed in the access to Recreation Room Nine, where this last group of Young would be housed until otherwise commanded.  Chekov stood to the side as all of the children, some of them holding onto their mate’s hand as they walked, filed into the room.  For a recreation facility, its layout proved spacious.  As a place to house this large of a number of people, even with them being small children, Chekov knew the room would be cramped and hot.  Chekov waited, T’Kyi’i at his side, until the last of the children entered the room before he passed through the doors.  Behind him came his wife and the one healer that Kirk permitted to reside with each group of children.  Kirk may have left Chekov in charge of monitoring the compliance of the Young, but it was impossible for him to be in all of the recreation rooms at once and also attend to his official ship’s duties.  It had been Chekov that had suggested a healer for each group of children.  McCoy and T’Pring had provided each one with a medical tricorder configured for Vulcan physiology, despite McCoy’s grumbling at losing valuable equipment to be spread out all over the ship.  Kirk had smiled and reminded McCoy that it was necessary. 

The healer followed him inside the room, the doors hissing shut behind the three of them.  He put his phaser at his side as he turned to the healer as he had with every other group.  “I will show you how to work the communication panel and to operate the replicator so you can all have something to eat.” 

The healer stared at him uncomprehendingly.  At that moment, again, Chekov remembered that very few Vulcans speak Standard.  He looked to his wife helplessly.  She nodded then repeated his words to the healer in the language of her people. 

As they conversed, Chekov looked out at the children.  They wandered aimlessly, realizing that this large communal room would be where they did everything from this moment on.  It would be here that they would sleep among each other, where they would all eat together, cry together from their losses with only each other for comfort, and where they would adapt to their circumstances.  He did not envy them in their situation.  Chekov sympathized with them.  But at least they had many of their peers from whom to seek comfort – even if they were not very skilled in offering strength and solace to one another.  He knew that through each other, these children would endure. 

He noticed that these children were no different than the previous groups in deciding which tiny area of the room to claim as their own.  The first places to get claimed were always those closest to the wall-sized viewport.  Chekov tried not to let these children see that he understood why they gravitated to the stars.  The stars meant freedom, hope, and a life outside of their captivity.  A place away from their helplessness.

Chekov turned away from the children and gave his attention to his wife as she asked him, “Would you prefer I teach him the communications and replicator?”  He sighed.  It would make sense.  He couldn’t talk to the male Vulcan anyway.  He nodded and watched as T’Kyi’i led the healer to the panel mounted on the wall, and begin to teach him how to access food items.  He sighed to himself.  There weren’t many vegetarian options for them to choose from. 

Then again, these children had more choices than he did when he’d been their age.  They would make do.  Vulcans seemed to be a logical race.  They’d probably think that even limited choices a better situation than having no choices at all. 

He’d been so consumed by his own thoughts that it took T’Kyi’i touching his elbow to bring him back to the present.  “Are you ready to leave?”  One look into her eyes and he knew her answer.  “There is nothing I can do here for them.”  And it made him feel as helpless as these children. 

“You have ensured that each group of Young has a healer to care for them.  How many other captors would be as considerate?” she asked.  He knew that she was trying to reassure him, but it only made him feel more inadequate.

“I should be able to do more.  I have been where they have been, but worse.”  He grimaced as he said it.  He had not been forced to leave a doomed planet.  He’d been forced to remain on a doomed planet, and flee into the wilderness for his life.  He’d starved in the wild, with a fugitive group of fifteen others.  By the time everything was over, only nine of them were still alive.  The planet had died, its people had died, and the government officials killed anyone they found as they tried to stay alive as much as the small band of kids Chekov had been with among the brittle trees.  These Vulcan children lost everything all at once.  Chekov had lost his family and his world piece by piece.  He would have been one of those pieces had not a certain teenager in his group forbade the rest of them from dying like everyone else.  No.  Chekov didn’t know which scenario was worse between his own and the one these Vulcan children faced.  Not anymore.  But he did know that the feelings were similar, in the end the loss identical.  “I have known what they are going through.”  He could not look at her.  “I wish I could do more for them, but to do that could mean my death.”  He sighed.  “I do not dare to do more.”

T’Kyi’i raised her voice so that it carried through the entire recreation room.  He looked at her questioningly.  He had no idea what she said, but she clearly had the attention of every single child in the room, even those furthest from them.  “What are you doing?”

A small voice began to answer his wife.  Instead of translating her own words, T’Kyi’i simply reached toward him with her left hand until their palms lightly pressed together and she intertwined their fingers.  He gasped as he realized that through their touch he could understand what the Vulcan child said.  “I saw when you were bonded to that human.  Why did you agree to it?”

“Because my brother’s mate had been threatened.  I offered to take her place.”

Chekov knew others must have witnessed those events, but he wouldn’t have thought these young children would be curious about it.  “I saw one of them hurt Osu Spockh,” another said.  “Does this human hurt you like that?”

The question upset T’Kyi’i, but Chekov didn’t know if she were upset about what the child implied or if it was out of concern for her cousin.  She knew that he had been harmed and had suffered.  “No.  We are mates.  He has not hurt me.”

“Then he is kind?” another child asked in a voice that did not conceal his doubt of Chekov’s conduct toward his wife. 

“Yes.  He is kind to me,” T’Kyi’i reassured the boy.  He nodded in acceptance of her statement. 

A pair of children, standing close to one another with their hands intertwined, gazed curiously at Chekov and T’Kyi’i.  After a moment the boy spoke.  “Do you trust him, T’Sai T’Kyi’i?” 

Chekov did not yet want to know his own wife’s response to that question.  “Yes, child, I do.”  He sighed in relief.

The boy was not convinced.  “Why?  He is part of the humans that keep us like this.”

His wife gazed at the male child with patient eyes.  “He obeys his captain.  If he did not, then he, and thus I, would be in danger.”

Chekov found himself meeting the boy’s eyes when he turned to face him.  “If your captain told you to kill T’Sai T’Kyi’i, would you?”

His breath left him in a rush.  How could this child expect him to answer that?  He would not wish to betray either his wife or his oldest friend.  But this boy placed before him a likely scenario.  What would he do if Kirk asked this of him?  Then, he realized the truth.  Chekov opened his mouth to reply.

“He would do what his duty commanded of him,” T’Kyi’i said. 

But Chekov needed to speak.  “Captain Kirk would never ask me to do that.”  Others on the ship, if they were to rise to an authoritative position, would ask him to prove his loyalty to the Terran Empire in that way.  But not Kirk.  He would have him prove it in some other way.  But he would not have him murder his own wife.

She translated his words to the boy, who glared at Chekov suspiciously.  “You are certain of this.  Why?”

“It is not in his character to ask that of me.  I trust him with not only my life, but with my—”  He glanced at T’Kyi’i, who nodded encouragingly.  He drew a breath.  “—my mate’s life, too.”

The girl beside the skeptical boy spoke then.  “You trust the captain.”  Chekov nodded.

A girl among the group called to him.  “The captain helped me.”  The children that stood in front of her turned toward her as she spoke.  At least this way, she was easier to spot among the crowd.  “When a man was hurting me with a small device, the captain told him to stop.  When he did not, the captain killed him.”  Chekov did not know until that moment why Bensen’s body had been left there in the middle of the Sickbay floor as they had all separated the Vulcans into their castes and then separated the children.  Apparently Kirk had killed Bensen for this girl.  He knew her question even as she asked it.  “Why would he murder his own people for a captive?”

 

_“Hey!” he heard the older boy say to him as his tiny body shook.  Was the planet finally dying like the rest of the people were?  Was this what an earthquake felt like?  “Hey, Pavel.  Wake up.”  Then, he opened his eyes.  “Come on.”  It wasn’t an earthquake.  Someone shook him to wake him up.  “Good, okay, good.  Wake up.  Talk to me, Pavel.”_

_It took a huge effort even to say two words.  “What happened?”_

_The dirty face of the teenager above him tried to smile, but that smile vanished as a sob twisted his mouth.  “I got you out of there.  I’m sorry I made you go first.  I should’ve checked before—”_

_Then, he remembered the two Governor’s Guards.  One of them threw him to the dusty floor, the guard’s hands tight around his throat, choking him.  The other one was watching and laughing.  He kicked as hard as he could but he was so tiny that it did nothing to loosen the man’s grip on his throat.  He heard something breaking in the other room of the house.  The man that had laughed turned and went into the other room.  Pavel couldn’t focus on the man holding him down.  It was like he was about to fall asleep.  But a moment later, the hands around his throat were gone and he was being carried.  Who carried him, he had no idea.  But now, he did.  “Are they—?”_

_“They’re dead, Pav.  That’s two less of them we have to worry about now.”  It was then that Pavel finally saw the bloodstains on J.’s clothes.  It didn’t even scare him anymore, not on J._

It may not be the answer the girl was expecting, but it was the truth.  “Because Captain Kirk does not like it when children are tortured.  That is why he helped you.”

“This is why you trust him?” the Vulcan boy asked disbelievingly.  “Because he does not hurt children?  I have seen him harm Osu Spockh and S’haile Sarek.  For that I will never trust him.”

Chekov shook his head.  “I can’t make you trust the captain,” he argued, amazed that his mate could keep up with him as she translated.  “That is your choice.  But it is why you should trust him.  He will not hurt child on this ship.  I trust him completely for different reason.”  He looked out at all of these gathered children, who looked at him with interest.  They may never trust James Kirk, but he realized that he wanted these children to trust him.  And there was one way he might be able to do that.  He had to connect with them.  After all, these Vulcan children had more in common with Chekov than they knew. 

He knew with that last sentence that he no longer had any choice.  He took a deep breath and looked at his mate’s eyes, then looked at their joined hands.  He began to speak, directing his voice to T’Kyi’i.  “I will always trust him because when I was child, Captain Kirk saved my life.”  She hesitated before translating, not doing so until he nodded sharply at her.  He didn’t know if he wanted to tell her about his childhood.  But he had already begun, and could not take back what he had said.  He looked at their joined hands and took another deep breath.  He gazed out at the gathered children, noticing that the boy who had spent the entire time in this room glaring at him with suspicion now gazed at him with open curiosity and interest.  Almost all of the other children shared his expression.  Then, Chekov understood. 

These children already trusted him.  They didn’t trust Kirk despite him helping one of their peers.  They saw him hurting others, hurting adults, which meant to these children that their parents – their family – were not safe from the captain.  But because T’Kyi’i reassured them clearly that he did not mistreat her and that they were bonded in the Vulcan way, that he acted kindly towards his mate, these children trusted him.  He hoped that he could keep their confidence as he tried to explain the events surrounding the reason for his complete trust in Kirk.  Perhaps it could persuade some of these children to trust him, too.  He’d already begun the story.  He decided that, after eleven years, it was finally time to tell it. 

Pavel Chekov tightened his grip on his mate’s hand as, for the first time in his entire life, he began to talk about his childhood on the doomed colony of Tarsus IV. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Kevin had successfully transported the Romulan Commander and Sybok back to their vessel before he returned to his post as ordered.  Uhura took over the handling of transferring some personal effects of the Romulans left behind on the Enterprise.  They would be taken to their new assigned quarters as soon as Giotto found a place for them to stay.  Kirk preferred to keep them separate from his own crew in this case.  After there was no further need of her linguistic skills on the comms to Sybok’s ship, Kirk turned to Farrell and Giotto knowing he could talk without interruptions again.  “Give our new crewmembers a tour of my ship.  They should know their way around.  Settle them into their rooms, too.  Afterwards, bring them to my quarters to stand guard.  They have a little to get used to now that they’re among Humans.”  When the two Romulan guards did not follow his personal guards, Kirk whipped his head to Uhura and snapped, “Go with them.  Get them settled somehow.  They know they only have to keep my Vulcan safe.  I don’t really care how much they understand what I’m saying.”  She nodded then spoke brusquely to the two armed Romulans before leading them from the room.

That left him with McCoy, his Vulcan husband, the old woman, and his pet.  Not for long, though.  “Dismissed, McCoy.  I have things to discuss with my Vulcan.”   He walked past him to stand by the chair in front of the transporter console that Kevin had vacated. 

“Jim,” McCoy began, “you’re not gonna—”

Kirk tensed where he stood.  “I said leave, Doctor.  That’s an order.  And take them with you.”  He didn’t fail to stress ‘them,’ so that McCoy would have no doubt as to whom they were.  He heard his friend exhale resignedly before he heard departing footsteps and the hiss of the doors opening and closing, his Vulcan’s father quietly protesting the entire time.

They were finally alone. 

Kirk lowered himself into the chair with a deep sigh, relieved that the meeting his Vulcan had set up had finally ended.  The terms to which he’d agreed were certainly not to his liking or comfort, but he supposed it would have to do.  He’d make it work.  What disturbed him was Sybok’s demand that the two guards remain behind to guard his prisoner.  He raised his eyes to the Vulcan to find a slightly anxious gaze returned.  Other than that tinge of nervousness, the smooth features were blank in expression.  Did he know he would benefit most from this meeting when he arranged it?  Did he know that Sybok would give him protection aboard Kirk’s ship?  And if he didn’t know, Kirk realized that he couldn’t really blame Sybok for his actions.  After all, he’d rearranged the duties of his own personal guards so that Wolfe would always keep watch over his Vulcan.  Sybok did the exact same thing, by putting trusted members of his crew in place to protect his brother.  He didn’t want to think that he and Sybok were anything alike, however.  They weren’t.  Kirk placed Wolfe near him because the Vulcan’s beauty would attract others, which Kirk would not permit.  Sybok placed these two Romulans aboard his ship because his brother was valuable. 

And Kirk had agreed to those terms.  Why?  He wondered if his Vulcan made him seem weak.  He liked him too much.  “You behaved today,” he acknowledged, as he raised his hand toward the Vulcan.  When his captive placed his own, colder hand within his grasp, Kirk inwardly admitted his own surprise.  He closed his hand around the long fingers and pulled him nearer to him.  Perhaps, he thought, his liking of this Vulcan had become apparent to his enemies.  That was unacceptable.  “But,” he continued slowly, as he claimed Spock’s other hand, “I asked you to be perfect.”  He wished he could have the luxury of caring for someone openly.  “And you weren’t.”  But he didn’t. 

Spock stiffened, the fear in his eyes growing, which both pleased and displeased Kirk.  He tightened his grip on the Vulcan’s hands, squeezing them.  Weaknesses got people killed in the Empire.  This Vulcan would not become a weakness. 

He could not be a weakness.

“I think we should balance the scale between us.”  The fear in those dark eyes turned into an unasked question.  Kirk deliberately shifted his index fingers within the curve of Spock’s palms, relishing in his victory as his bedwarmer’s eyes fluttered closed and his breathing changed just slightly.  It was enough.  Kirk smiled at his victory.  “I know a little of what pleases you.”  To emphasize his point, he brought one of Spock’s captured hands up and pressed a kiss to the backs of the Vulcan’s fingers.  When he heard the strangled gasp of his captive, Kirk’s smile grew.  He pierced him with his eyes as he pressed a second kiss to Spock’s skin, watching attentively as those full lips slowly fell open in a silent, unintentional moan.  “It’s only fair that you start to learn how to please me.”

Just with those words, Spock’s face lost any small amount of visible bliss and his body stiffened in dread.  Kirk sighed.  It had been going so well only seconds ago.  He’d hoped to coax the Vulcan into this, slowly for the alien’s benefit more than his own, but now Spock brought them back too many paces.  Kirk didn’t have time to tease him into compliance again now.  It seemed that Spock might be a very slow learner after all.  He worked his jaw side to side before growling the command at his captive.  “On your knees.”  Spock shifted, trying to pull his hands from Kirk’s, but he kept him there with a tightened grip on the paler, softer hands.  “Get on your knees, Vulcan,” he ordered. 

His eyes closed in resignation as he folded his slender body down to the deck, trying to keep his breathing under control, trying not to panic.  Once he settled himself before him, Kirk brought Spock’s captured hands to the fastening of his uniform trousers.  “Undo them,” he commanded, firmly.  He released his hands as they worked his clothing open.  He didn’t have to order the Vulcan to continue, surprisingly, but he did hesitate before touching his flesh.  Spock exposed him to the air of the transporter room a moment later.  The sight of those pale, deceptively thin fingers shyly touching him proved enough for Kirk to swell in anticipation.  He spread his legs to allow Spock to approach him.  But the Vulcan didn’t take the invitation.  Kirk ran his hand along the Vulcan’s arm, gripping his forearm lightly, while he reached forward to hook his index finger at Spock’s chin to tilt his head up at him.  He saw the uncertainty, the hesitancy, and the innocence simultaneously in those dark eyes.  “Come closer, little one.”  The Vulcan swallowed and crawled on his knees toward him.  He settled again when Kirk’s knees framed his body.

He gazed at Kirk’s erection nervously, his rapid breathing coming through his nose.  His lips were kept stubbornly together.  This behavior only made Kirk smile at him.  “Use your mouth,” he instructed.  Spock’s slanted brows came together in the center of his face.  His eyes sought Kirk’s, the puzzlement clear in them.  “Kiss it,” Kirk paraphrased for him. 

The disgust lasted only an instant in the Vulcan’s expression before he buried it.  His tongue wet his lips quickly before he slowly leaned toward Kirk at such a pace that he would have believed seductive had he not known that this creature had zero experience with giving oral pleasure to another until that very moment.  But Kirk knew that Spock’s pace as he approached his organ had nothing to do with seduction and everything to do with repulsion.  Finally, Spock’s wet lips touched him.  He gasped and his organ twitched at the contact, both of which caused the Vulcan to back away quickly. 

Kirk didn’t let him retreat far before he had Spock’s hair tangled in both of his hands.  “You’re not running away now,” he growled.  He pulled the dark-haired head close to his stiff flesh.  “Open those pretty lips,” he whispered, trying to make it sound more like a demand than a request.  He held back his groan as Spock obediently parted his lips.  He pressed his hands against the back of the Vulcan’s skull, bringing his open mouth toward his waiting cock.  “Take it in.”  He’d expected his mouth to feel like ice, since the rest of his body ran colder than his own, but when his Vulcan’s mouth took him inside, Kirk discovered that it was surprisingly warm.  Maybe it was because the air was cooler than the Vulcan’s mouth, but Kirk didn’t even care anymore.  He stared, his lips parting as he watched himself disappear into the Vulcan’s innocent mouth. 

Gently, he put more pressure on Spock’s head, urging him to take his length further into his mouth.  He barely felt it as his captive’s hands came back up to grip his thighs to steady himself from Kirk’s abrupt action.  “Suck,” he directed.  He felt him try to obey, but as he did, he pulled more of the captain into his mouth than he’d been prepared for.  He seized before he began to desperately withdraw from Kirk.  “Slowly.  Not so fast.”  Kirk pulled him back by his grip in his hair until only the head of his cock remained in the Vulcan’s mouth.  He could breathe then, through his nose at least. 

A moment later, he changed pressure on him and brought Spockh’s wet mouth back down on his flesh.  The movement took his Vulcan by surprise and he took him inside his body with a long gasp.  “Try again,” he said.  “Suck.”  Spock couldn’t do it, he pushed against Kirk with his hands where they gripped his legs, but Kirk pressed his head further down his length.  “Relax, little one,” he groaned as he was accepted closer to the back of the Vulcan’s throat.  “Come on,” he encouraged, trying not to thrust.  “Take it.”  Spock began to choke.  Kirk pulled him away again.

Spock looked at him through his long eyelashes that hooded the tops of his shining eyes as Kirk held him by his hair and his lips were occupied with his cock.  His Vulcan had no concept of how sinful an image he made like this.  Kirk brushed the black bangs away from his face.  “Use your tongue.”  Spock barely flicked the tip of his tongue along the length it could reach in one single swipe.  “Oh,” Kirk moaned and let his head drift back.  “Again.”  His Vulcan obeyed the command, dragging a voiceless sigh from his captor.  Kirk tightened his grip in the silken hair and slowly, steadily thrust into Spock’s open lips, sliding his flesh along the wet tongue.  He did not ease up whenever Spock stiffened or pushed against him.  His lazy thrusting lost its leisurely pace quickly.  He used his hands tangled in the Vulcan’s hair to force him to meet the thrusts of his hips.  “Come on,” he urged him, speeding up his pace and increasing his depth.  “Oh, come on.” 

In seconds, the Vulcan’s throat seized up, and he began to choke on on the organ thrusting into him.  He pushed against Kirk’s legs, but Kirk only used the Vulcan’s resistance as leverage for his own movement.  As he continued to gag, he abandoned his grip on Kirk’s legs and instead grasped the captain’s forearms, trying instead to pull his hands from his hair.  Kirk did not permit it, but smiled as his struggling made Spock moan in frustration.  The sensation that jolted through him from that moan’s vibration on his cock spurred him on.  He watched, transfixed, as he rammed himself into the Vulcan’s mouth, choking him.  He followed the trail of tears left on Spock’s cheeks as he cried from lack of air due to Kirk’s desperate seeking of release.  The sight, the sensation, the sound of his Vulcan brought him to the precipice, his body beginning to tense. 

But then, as he pulled his organ back to thrust again, his Vulcan drew back his lips, tensed his lower jaw just enough, and deliberately grazed his length with his teeth. 

With a sharp cry of both pain and frustration, Kirk pulled Spock off of him, fisted one hand into his dark hair, and then with the other struck the Vulcan viciously across the face.  The impact sent the alien crashing to the deck, where he collapsed coughing as his starved lungs finally took in oxygen again.  Hurriedly, Kirk tucked himself back into his uniform, his movements abrupt in rage.  He slid from the chair to kneel by Spock’s crumbled body.  “That was a fucking mistake doing that.”  He stroked his dark hair like he was stroking the fur of a rabid animal.  He lowered his head until he could hiss into the pointed ear.  “Anyone else would have fucking killed you for it.  They wouldn’t care about the deal I just made with your brother and his bitch commander.  They would’ve killed you anyway.” 

He turned just enough to cruelly bite down hard on the tip of Spock’s ear, smiling around the delicate flesh as his captive cried out.  “Doesn’t feel good does it?” he asked after he released him, feeling Spock’s immediate response by shaking his head.  “Remember that the next time you think about resisting me, little one.”  He kissed the aggravated point.  “And remember that you’re alive right now, despite that little stunt, for one reason.”  He heard his terrified breathing.  “Because I want you that way.” 

Kirk got to his feet and went to the door of the transporter room, knowing that only one person should be stationed beyond it.  He was not disappointed.  “Take him back to my quarters and keep him there.”  Wolfe nodded sharply at the command before entering the room and going directly to the Vulcan.  He hauled Spock to his feet by one of his arms and bodily escorted him to the doors.  His handling did not meet resistance.  “I expect better from you later,” he said as they passed him.  Spock’s wide eyes found his just as the doors slid shut, confirming to Kirk that he understood the veiled threat of his words. 

He looked down at his hand, the one he’d used against his Vulcan.  Apparently, his frustration from meeting with the Romulans had carried over into his behavior towards his bedwarmer.  Not that he hadn’t ever taken out his anger and rage on Marlena once in a while during a very heated and aggressive round of sex.  He’d even thrown her around his quarters once or twice, but she’d always left bruises on him in return – just never anywhere that the crew could see.  It had been part of his requirements when he took her on as his woman.  She would not dare bruise or injure him on his arms, neck, or face.  The same, however, did not apply to his behavior – though he’d rarely ever injure her.  It had only been twice, when their interaction had gotten particularly rough, but he’d always taken care of her afterwards.  During one of those instances, he’d even called McCoy to his quarters to patch her up. 

But this Vulcan didn’t warrant it.  Yes, he’d grazed him with his teeth, but was it as deliberately done as he’d thought in the moment?  Was it simply that Spock was so inexperienced that it had been an accident?  Kirk shook his head at himself.  It didn’t matter.  Who he really wanted to punch in the face was Sybok, not his captive Vulcan.  He wanted the Vulcan to come to him willingly one day, ideally sooner than later.  He never would if things continued like this.  How could he keep Spock obedient to him, yet award him little if any fredoms on his ship?  How could he entice him to want his touch if he had to keep Spockh frightened of him?  They were questions to which Kirk did not know the answer.  He only knew that he wanted Spock in a way that he could not even explain.

 

_He rounded on Sarek as soon as the doors to the room closed behind their departure.  “He’s a child?”_

_Sarek’s posture seemed to have lost all fortitude.  “Yes, until his first pon farr, but that is irrelevant since you have already used my son.”_

_Maybe it was the way the older Vulcan said it, his voice heavy with grief that made Kirk pause.  Kirk didn’t want to discuss his little Vulcan with his father – someone who could only view him as evil and corrupt.  This Vulcan before him had no idea of the kind of people this Empire bred.  But nothing he could say to him would ever convince the male that Kirk was not his enemy.  He needed to change the subject.  “He seems to trust Sybok.”_

_“Spockh is naïve, Captain.  Though, he would not be if he had—”_

_“Lived my life, Vulcan?  Is that what you were going to say?”  Kirk, offended by the presumption, straightened his stance.  He would not feel guilty for anything he’d done with this man’s son.  And he certainly knew nothing about his life, the horrors of his past, what he’d had to do to survive.  He could have treated this Vulcan’s son like nothing more than a tight hole in which to release his anger, his frustration, everything.  He could have beaten the younger Vulcan until he’d swelled and discolored to become unrecognizable.  He could have fucked him right there in the middle of Sickbay for all of his people – including innocent children – to watch.  But he hadn’t done any of that.  He’d been treating his young Vulcan better than he had any other bedwarmer he’s had._

_Sarek gazed hard at him, but it did not have the hatred Kirk expected.  Instead, Kirk felt studied, like the Vulcan before him silently analyzed him, like the older male knew what he’d just been thinking.  Finally, he spoke.  “Do not let your lust for my son blind you, Kirk.  What does your instinct tell you?”_

_He understood immediately what Sarek said.  Spock may trust Sybok, but his own father called him naïve.  Kirk found himself agreeing with the father.  “Not to trust Sybok.”_

_Sarek nodded once, sharply.  “Precisely.”_

_Kirk flinched.  The pain came suddenly in his head, just like when he’d had dinner with McCoy, Sarek, and T’Pau.  He glared at the Vulcan in front of him.  The whole race was telepathic.  What if this bastard was attacking him with his mind for having taken his son?  He snarled two words at him as he turned to re-enter the room. “We’re done.”_

_A moment later, he saw Bones holding his clearly shaken Vulcan on the deck.  He saw the way one of their visitors stood, confidently and unapologetically.  “What the fuck happened?”  He went to Spock as soon as McCoy got him back in the chair, intent on making sure his captive was alright.  No one should be hurting this Vulcan except him.  And Sybok had just harmed his Vulcan._

He’d been scared when he’d returned to that meeting, but he would never admit that to anyone.  That was why he’d failed miserably in the rest of the negotiations.  He’d been scared for his prize.  Somehow, these Vulcans had turned his authority around to themselves.  That could not be permitted to stand.  He thought of the night he’d taken Spock, how frightened he’d been.  But in his fear, the Vulcan became remarkably obedient and cooperative. 

Spock had gained some confidence today during that meeting.  Kirk had to tear down that confidence and bring him back to the pliant, frightened, innocent creature he’d had beneath him in his bed.  Spock seemed to learn better when he was afraid. 

Thanks to his own failed techniques in the meeting with the Romulan party, Spock remained in his care, as his charge, but now he could not hurt him too much.  Sybok made sure of that with the guards he’d left behind, and his threats.  He may not be able to hurt Spock, or discipline him for failing to obey, but he could manipulate him into compliance.  The first place to start would be to condition the Vulcan.  He’d given up Marlena for this beautiful creature, and he would be satisfied with his performance one way or another.  Eventually, he’d shape Spock to be the perfectly compliant whore he’d chosen him for.  He just needed a little training. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He felt like he’d been piloting this shuttle for much longer than he should have, especially if Kirk had changed course to pursue Nero’s ship.  He suspected his adopted son would be unable to resist the opportunity of capturing Nero, his ship along with its advanced technology, the weapon aboard that destroyed the Vulcan homeworld, and also to extract him from the Romulan’s grasp.  He did not delude himself into believing that Kirk would rank any of those items in any other level of importance.  Pike knew he would have been the least important item to acquire out of the four.  If their positions had been reversed, he would put the recovery of his son last in the hierarchy.  He would have preferred to regain his son, but if it did not come to pass, he – and the Empire – would adjust.  There were very few people with that kind of worth, and Pike doubted that he was one of them. 

But he also knew that with some work and persuasion he could become one.  It was a goal on which he’d been working for most of his adult life, and with the anomalous arrival by this ship full of Romulans from an alternate future, his opportunity may have finally arrived in order to make that goal a reality. 

His travel companion, Ayel, still secured by the cuffs in the rear of the shuttle, had remained hidden from view during the entire diversion to the Tantalus Penal Institution.  Pike regretted that he had to leave the Romulan there for the duration of the visit, but it was unavoidable if he wanted to make sure Ayel remained his prisoner and not Adams’s new addition.  At least he replicated a small meal for him as soon as he powered up the shuttle.  Ayel had remained stubbornly silent since. 

That silence had continued until the scanning readout display blipped the discovery of an approaching vessel.  Pike had never been more pleased to hear that sound while in another’s company.  He tapped the screen to bring up the available detected information on the slowly nearing vessel.  Then, he allowed himself to smile.  He quickly looked through the information near the end of the readout before reaching to his right to enter a sequence of commands. 

“Shuttle to I.S.S. Enterprise.  This is Captain Pike.  I order you to reply immediately.”  It was the first thing to be said in the confined space of the shuttle in what seemed like days.  He waited but not patiently.

“Enterprise here.”  Pike tilted his head to the side in surprise.  That wasn’t Kirk.  “What’s your location, Captain?”  _Ah,_ he realized.  _Mitchell._

“Approximately twelve hours out, Lieutenant Mitchell.”  He knew that his son didn’t quite get along with Gary.  Putting the pieces together made Pike dread the answer to the question as he asked, “Who authorized you to be in command?”

He heard the smile in Mitchell’s response.  “The acting captain, sir.”

Acting captain.  So Kirk was still alive.  Good.  But if he gave Mitchell authority of the bridge, then— “He made you his first officer.” 

“He did.  I’m in command in his absence.”

That concerned Pike, but he would never say it to someone like Mitchell.  “In his absence?”  He shook his head.  “What the hell’s Kirk been doing?”

From the corner of his eye, Pike noticed that Ayel had risen from his place in the rear of the shuttle and came forward to the co-pilot’s seat.  He was interested in the conversation.  Silently, Ayel lowered himself into the seat with far more grace and dignity than anyone should have while in restraints.  Why would he have suddenly become interested?  Then, Pike realized that it was the first time he’d used his son’s name.  Ayel recognized it, of course.  They’d discussed it on the Narada while dining with Nero. 

“He just recently left the bridge, but earlier—”  Mitchell paused for effect.  Pike’s patience was thinning.  “—to meet with a group of Romulans.”

Pike pinned his gaze on Ayel, suspiciously.  He mouthed two words at him.  ‘Your people?’  Ayel looked as intrigued and confused as he felt.  After another moment, the Romulan shook his head ‘No.’ 

There was only one thing for Pike to do – seek more information.  Conducting negotiations did not sound like something Kirk would do on his own.  His usual style normally consisted of attack, capture, interrogate, and then exterminate.  That he met with Romulans, and not the Romulans from the Narada at that, perplexed him.  It did not sound like his son’s behavior at all.  He needed to learn more.  He hoped Mitchell would be willing to divulge.  “And what other atypical behavior has he been up to?”

“He got rid of his woman, and then he—”

“He killed Marlena?” he interrupted Mitchell.  That shocked him.  Kirk never complained about her performance for him, never declared her to be sexually unsatisfying, not once.  Why would he kill her?  It was a shame, too, considering Pike thought her to be a rather brilliant chemist, despite being a woman. 

“No, sir,” Mitchell said.  “Instead she spreads her legs for me.”

Kirk didn’t kill Marlena.  Pike found that information more unusual than his original assumption that she’d been killed.  Why would he ever let her live? 

Mitchell continued before he could ask more questions.  “As for Kirk, he’s fucking a Vulcan, now.”

So that was the reason.  Pike glanced at Ayel, hoping to see something, an answer, some sort of recognition in the Romulan’s eyes, at this information.  Ayel betrayed nothing at all.  Pike returned his attention to his conversation.  “I did order him to bond with one before they disabled that drill so we could capture as many of those Vulcans as we could.”

“I remember.”

“They’re ideal bodyguards, unable to hurt their mates.”  Pike paused, wondering at Kirk’s sudden obedience.  Was Kirk afraid for his own safety?  Surely not with three personal guards alone.  Why would he need a Vulcan one?  It didn’t make sense.  Unless he figured it would be one less thing to worry about, being assassinated by a whore while in command.  If the one Kirk pummeled into his chosen surface in his quarters could not possibly inflict any harm to him, he would never have to risk an ambitious officer slitting his throat.  That was where a bond with a Vulcan could prove useful – both sexually and politically aboard their ship.

Pike remembered Number One, his former first officer before Kirk.  That he’d managed to convince the Empress to permit a woman to occasionally command his ship during missions that removed him from the center seat had been an impressive feat of persuasion.  He’d vouched for her loyalty; he’d trusted his body and tactics to her arms and mind.  He’d given her what he would’ve given Winona had she not chosen George Kirk.  For all of this, Pike had received betrayal and an assassination attempt from a brilliant commander, and a woman he came dangerously close to marrying.  He’d tried to replace Winona with Number One, and instead Number One had tried to replace him as Captain of the Enterprise.  He never took another into his bed again, and never permitted a woman command authority on his ship. 

“Is that true, Captain?”  Mitchell’s voice drew him from his memory.

“Interested, Mitchell?”

“Vulcans don’t interest me, Captain.”  Pike heard what Mitchell wasn’t saying out loud.  He didn’t have to ask what the younger man meant.  Captain Pike already knew. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He’d been left to his own devices for several hours while Kirk commanded his ship and crew.  He did not have much with which to occupy himself.  With the food dispenser only activating with Kirk’s voice command, Spockh could not feed himself.  With the computer access denied to him, he could not educate himself on the structure and political organization of the Terran Empire properly.  Storage compartments and most drawers did not open for him.  All he had at his disposal were the limited number of books Kirk displayed on the shelf near his bed.  It was either read through his collection or spend his time reorganizing the captain’s clothing in his wardrobe, which Spockh rejected doing on the assumption that Kirk would become angry with his moving or simply touching his clothing unless he had asked Spockh to do so, which he did not.  His only command to Wolfe had been to bring Spockh here and ensure that he stayed in these quarters. 

Spockh looked at the door that separated the sleeping area from the fresher.  He could bathe in order to pass some time.  Perhaps Kirk would like for him to look pleasing and to be as clean as possible.  Oddly enough, this young captain was obsessed with order – even in his own quarters, with the exception of his worn clothing strewn about the floor.  Perhaps he could assist in that at least.  After that, he decided that he would bathe.

_Or read_ , he thought as his eyes went back to the small book collection after he stood up from picking one of Kirk’s gold shirts from the floor.  He wanted to read.  He did not want to be this man’s servant.  Being this man’s sexual outlet was already demanding enough.  Didn’t a captain have a yeoman for things like picking his clothing off the floor?  It made logical sense to Spockh to let the shirt fall back to the floor so that Kirk’s pretty yeoman could do her duties.  Everyone had their duties on this ship.  Rand’s duty was to clean up after Kirk and fetch him anything he wanted that proved below the work of his personal guards or an ensign.  Spockh’s duty was to submit to any and every physical advance the captain made towards him, to allow him liberties with his body that no one should be allowed without his own permission.  He remembered meeting Yeoman Rand when she came to these quarters the day after Kirk took his innocence.

 

_He sat up in the bed too quickly as the door opened to admit a young blonde woman.  His sudden movement made him dizzy and he planted his hands on either side of his body, locking his elbows to keep himself upright. While he was frightened and uncertain what this stranger would do or say to him, he dared not speak first.  If he did, he knew he would most likely be struck, or punished in some way.  He stared at her in silence._

_She said nothing as she approached the bed where he sat.  Her walk was confident and had an intense focus, but that illusion shattered as soon as she met his eyes.  Spockh saw the deep sadness, the hurt, the fear in her eyes.  He knew he reflected the exact same feelings back to her in his own gaze._

_It was then that she finally spoke to him.  “He wants the sheets changed, so you have to get up.”_

_Spockh continued to stare at her.  He did not need to ask who ‘he’ was.  Silently, he pulled the bedding from his body, distantly aware that he should feel more disgust with his nudity before this unfamiliar woman.  She ran her eyes over his entire body, noting every discoloration and injury.  She sighed softly, sadly.  “He claimed you, too, then.”_

_“Too?” he asked, wondering if he were not the only one Kirk sexually abused presently.  Perhaps that is where he went so early this morning.  Perhaps he did not go straight to his commanding duties – but diverted to other pleasures._

_She lost her patience with him.  He removed himself from the bed too slowly.  She yanked the sheets and bedding from the side where his weight did not anchor them in place.  “What do you see when you look at me, Vulcan?”  Was this a trick?  Spockh did not know how to answer this.  In his confusion, he placed his feet on the floor and began to stand, gasping as he fell instead of remaining upright.  Kirk’s abuse left him physically weaker than he had expected.  He could not stand.  Spockh crumbled to the floor with a pained gasp.  From where he landed, he craned to look at the girl, still not answering her question.  She tore the rest of the sheets from the bed and flung them to the floor behind her, and then began to replace them with the clean sheets and bedding she had brought with her.  “You see a small, weak, helpless woman!” she snapped.  “That’s exactly what everyone else on this ship sees when they look at me.  It’s what they’ve all seen ever since Kirk raped me that night and the captain came to the room, saw it, and did nothing to stop it.  Not a fucking thing.  He just turned around and left, and then Kirk didn’t stop.  He left me there.  I don’t even know how long I was there.”_

_Spockh had no idea what to say to her.  Did she want him to say something to comfort her?  Did she want him to say nothing?  “When I woke up, everything was different.  And—”  She’d finished remaking the bed, throwing the pillows back onto it for a final release of emotion.  Then, as quickly as her rage had come upon her, it disappeared and the fight left her.  She looked at him again, and Spockh could identify the now dominating emotion.  Pity.  “I know what he did to you, Vulcan.  Don’t let yourself be seen like I am whatever you do.  The moment that happens and people think you’re weak or helpless or easy to control, you’ll never get them to see you as anything else again.”_

_Before he could reply in any way, she gathered the soiled sheets from the floor where she’d thrown them in her rage, and walked to the door.  She turned back before her approach activated the sensor to open them.  “He likes Saurian Brandy.  If he ever lets you use the replicator without him, you’d be smart to have it waiting for him when he comes back here.  It calms him down most of the time, and it might be…easier for you.”  She turned away again and the doors opened._

_His gratitude for the advice almost found his voice when the guard outside of the door spoke to the girl.  “Don’t look sad, Rand.  You’re not the first bitch Kirk gave up for someone else.”  She stood there silently.  “Although,” Wolfe drawled, stepping closer to her.  She did not move.  “I guess I should come find you when I need something to stick my cock into.  No one keeps you, but I hear just about everyone’s had you.”  He smiled lewdly at her.  “That’s fine with me, though.  I wouldn’t want to keep you anyway.  Can’t be good enough to keep if you haven’t found one man on this whole ship to take you as his woman.”  Wolfe snaked his hand around her hip, and under the hem of her skirt to grasp her right buttock.  She did not move except to clutch the dirty sheets to her chest tighter.  With this reaction, Spockh thought that she was much stronger than she declared herself to him.  He would not have permitted it – not from this guard.  He had to allow Kirk to freely touch him, if only due to the arrangement his father had made for them.  But if any other crew member were to touch him the way Wolfe was touching Rand, Spockh decided he would not tolerate it and fight until he were rendered incapacitated.  “You’d be a good enough fuck though, I bet.”  He squeezed the flesh in his hand, before drawing back enough to slap that same area of her body, laughing to himself as she flinched._

_He stepped back to allow her to leave.  Before she did, she turned her head to look right at Spockh.  He understood immediately that she silently reminded him not to allow himself to be treated as she was by this crew.  She was nothing more to them than an object.  Rand as a person no longer existed._

_The doors closed, shutting him away again in the captain’s quarters.  Spockh understood.  Do not let them see your weakness.  Do not let them think you are helpless.  As he tried again to stand so he could do something, anything, Spockh realized that at the moment he was exactly that.  Weak and helpless.  He could not even stand.  Soreness permeated his muscles and pain tore through his lower body.  Kirk’s treatment of him brought him to this state.  He may not be able to push himself up to stand, but he could still pull himself up.  Spockh clutched both of his hands into the newly made bedding and hoped it was secured well enough as he used his weakened arms to pull himself back onto the bed.  The effort drained him of nearly all of his energy.  He managed to get himself under some of the bedding before his body went completely limp in exhaustion._

_Within seconds, Spockh felt consciousness slipping away and sleep overcome him._

He had been awakened by Doctor McCoy’s arrival to these quarters.  That visit seemed like weeks ago rather than days.  Spockh stood close to the bed and the books, staring at the titles, trying to decide which one to begin reading.  Did it matter?  He knew he would eventually read them all, so what did the order matter? 

Spockh selected the book furthest to the left and lowered himself to sit on the mattress.  It was not his preferred seating in these quarters, but of the available chairs, the bed proved the most comfortable, especially when one intended to spend a considerable amount of time still and quiet in order to read.  After only thirty minutes of reading, he shifted his position onto his side, propping himself up by one arm and keeping the book open with his available hand.  He had read another seventy-three pages before he found himself fully lying on his side, his head nestled by the edge of a pillow, and both hands angling the book enough to be able to read it. 

His book slid from his fingers slowly.  The careful movement of the pages from his grip brought him to only a state of half-alertedness.  Kirk stood beside the bed drawing the book gently from his hands.  Spockh must have fallen asleep, the book closing in his limp grasp, but his finger having gotten caught between the pages to act as an unintentional placeholder.  Kirk had kept the place parted with his own finger when he freed the book.  He opened it and looked at the top corner of the page.  “You’re on page three hundred and fifty-seven.”  He closed the book again and slid it back to its position among the collection. 

Kirk looked down at Spockh, all of the aggression and anger vanished from his icy blue eyes.  “I’m going to shower.  You can either join me or go after me.  It’s up to you.” 

Spockh studied him for a moment.  Having been raised on a desert planet, it would be logical to conserve water – since the ship did not use sonics – and bathe simultaneously.  But he did not trust this man to leave him be during the cleansing process.  He knew Kirk would not resist his own urges and Spockh would find himself being molested while he tried to perform a simple task like bathing.  It would not be terribly unlike Rand’s encounter with Wolfe as she attempted to complete her duties.  Spockh shuddered.  He wanted one place on this ship where the threat of Kirk’s abuse and molestation did not exist.  If that place was the shower unit, then so be it.  “I will bathe after you have done so,” he decided. 

Kirk smiled at the response.  Spockh had no idea what could possibly have been amusing in his statement.  “I knew you’d say that.”  He stood and walked directly into the fresher, the door hissing closed after his entrance. 

Spockh gathered a change of clothing from Kirk’s wardrobe compartment and waited.  He could hear the waterflow.  He did not wait long for Kirk to complete his bathing.  The water ceased, and shortly afterwards the door opened again to reveal the captain.  The human had obviously not bothered to dry off the water that lingered on his skin with the towel he had wrapped around his waist.  His hair was dripping and sticking up chaotically.  His skin glistened with the water droplets clinging to his body, which had reddened since he first entered the fresher.  By the steam behind him, Spockh concluded that Kirk’s reddened complexion most likely resulted from an excessively warm temperature chosen for his bathing.  Looking at him in that moment, this man did not seem as deadly as Spockh very much knew him to be in all other circumstances.  But he would not be deceived.  “All yours, little one.”

Spockh ignored any possible meaning to those simple words and tried not to look as though he were fleeing into the warm, humid fresher.  As he passed Kirk, Spockh noticed the man smelled differently than he had before.  He stopped short and looked at his captor, trying to identify the difference in his scent – other than his lack of clothing.  He must have gazed too long.  Kirk’s confident smile grew as he turned to face him directly.  “See something you like?”

“No,” he answered quickly.  Spockh clutched his bundle of clothing closer and shook his head, intending to lock himself in the limited safety of the fresher room.  A firm grip at his elbow halted him.  “Release me,” he whispered, glaring at the man’s hand. 

“Don’t be too long,” Kirk commanded, his smile gone.

“I will take as long as I require.”  With disappointment, he heard the unsteadiness of his own voice. 

Kirk touched the clothing Spockh held against his chest, slipping his finger over the fabric.  “These don’t matter much, you know.  You’ll be taking them off soon enough anyway.”  Spockh managed not to shudder with the revulsion he felt.  “But I guess it would make you a little more comfortable in the beginning of this.”

“Beginning of what?”  The words were said before Spockh could stop himself.  Kirk only smiled at him, and then left him alone in the fresher unit.  Spockh quickly stripped his clothing and bandages, placing the latter into the chute for the incinerator, and stepped into the warm water, and began to bathe himself, still unaccustomed to the flowing water.  While he washed his hair and let the water remove the cleanser, he allowed his mind to wander.

There was only one answer to his blurted question and he knew it.  Kirk referred to his rule that he was not to wear any clothing in the captain’s bed.  But there seemed to be something else he meant by the vague term ‘this.’  Something possibly more sinister.  What did this mean?  Did Kirk intend to have him again tonight?  He promised he would wait until he healed.  McCoy had firmly insisted on it.  Spockh looked down at his own uncovered wrists and ankles.  With growing dismay, he noticed that the discoloration had nearly disappeared and any aggravation on his flesh had healed enough not to warrant the use of the bandages.  His chest tightened and he struggled to draw full breaths.  That was it.  Kirk intended to use him again.  He was healed.  There was no reason for Kirk not to do with him as he desired, only that Spockh did not want him to touch him again like that so soon.  He did not want to be pinned down, did not want to have his body invaded, violated again, did not want to feel the weight of the young captain on his back, anchoring him beneath him as the man moved on him and in him.  Spockh wanted none of Kirk’s attentions, but he would receive them because his injuries were now healed.

Unless the captain did not know that he was healed.

He left the water activated as he stumbled in his panic from the unit.  In his haste, he nearly slipped on the smooth flooring, but avoided a fall by grabbing onto the nearest surface.  After he’d steadied himself, Spockh wished he’d let himself fall.  He’d be injured then and possibly out of Kirk’s lustful interest.  Spockh could not regulate his panicked breathing as he searched the room for anything that would serve as a bandage.  If only he had not disposed of them.  Teachings from his own culture were rooted deeply into his subconscious, including the practices of sanitation.  If he had thought about his own safety instead of trying to analyze Kirk’s words, he would not be in this predicament. 

Yet, he was in this predicament, and he could not find anything that would serve as bindings for his injuries.  If he could convince Kirk that he had not healed yet, perhaps he could avoid molestation and abuse.  That required that he hide his healed skin.  If he could not find something to wrap around his wrists and ankles…Spockh lunged for the shirt in his pile of clothing.  Then, he heard the door open and Kirk step inside.  He whirled to face him, shaking in his panic, still clutching the unfolded shirt in his hands – the shirt he had been about to tear into strips. 

Kirk, with his lower body now dressed and armed and his towel draped over his shoulder, looked at him suspiciously.  “What are you doing?”  Spockh could think of absolutely nothing to say.  Kirk went to the shower unit and deactivated the water, not once taking his eyes from him.  Only after Kirk ran his gaze from his soaked hair, down his entire body, and then back up, did Spockh realize that his frantic search had left him standing there, dripping wet and naked.  Kirk approached him slowly, almost too slowly.  Spockh wanted nothing more than to bolt from this tiny room, but he knew he could not escape these quarters, so it would only be a short matter of time before Kirk had him, threw him down, and then climbed on top of him.  But he could retreat just a little.  Spockh backed away from Kirk until he felt the wall against his side.  Self-consciously he held the shirt over his nakedness. 

Still staring at him, Kirk snatched a towel from his shoulder.  “You know you have to dry off before you get dressed.”  Even with Spockh pressing his side against the wall, Kirk managed to wrap the towel around him.  He used it to pull him away from the wall.  Spockh shifted to look at him directly, aware that his breathing had still not calmed.  The towel pulled him close to the man, closer than Spockh would have ever cared to be to him.  Kirk strode forward then, pressing their bodies together as he forced Spockh backwards, only stopping when he had made contact with the wall again.  Kirk ran the edges of the towel over Spockh’s arms, his chest, his neck and face.  He left his hair plastered to his skull, though.  “Lift your arms.”  Spockh shook his head.  He knew what that would invite.  “Do it.” 

“No,” he begged him.  He looked into Kirk’s eyes, begging him silently now for this one mercy.  “Please.”

Kirk’s lips thinned in anger.  He dried Spockh’s side, then released the fabric and ran his hand along his skin until he went around to the small of his back.  His warm palm slid downward, grabbed the flesh there as Spockh had seen Wolfe do to Rand, and continue until he ran his middle and index finger into the crease of his posterior.  Kirk looked at Spockh in a way that seemed to dare him to stop him.  Kirk slid his hand lower, past the swell of his buttock and to the back of his upper thigh.  Spockh swayed at the sudden imbalance as Kirk yanked his leg up, taking his foot from the floor, to bring the limb around Kirk’s own hip.  Spockh, unless he wanted to fall to the slick floor, reacted instinctively and released the shirt he held in front of his body in order to steady himself by grabbing Kirk’s arm and shoulder. 

As soon as he touched Kirk, the man’s anger began to melt away and something else took its place.  He pressed Spockh further against the wall, his grip hard on his raised leg, as he grabbed Spockh’s hip in his other hand, guiding him to rock against his muscular leg that somehow found its way between Spockh’s.  Spockh looked down to see himself being manipulated by Kirk into grinding against his clothed leg, seeing the crumbled and useless shirt on the floor beneath them.  He wanted nothing more than to grab it and dress.  Instead here he was, being forced to simulate sexual interactions with this man. 

Then, it struck him.  Kirk could easily have taken him here in this moment.  Why had he not?  Had he even noticed his wrists and other injuries?  Spockh’s eyes darted up to Kirk’s, which shined with undisguised desire.  Spockh glanced for an instant at his own hand on Kirk’s shoulder.  The light was too bright in here.  If Kirk saw him, he would be unable to hide his recovery.  Spockh began to slowly trail his hand downward, hoping to hide in the shadows created by their closeness.  He looked back at Kirk, and then he saw it.  Kirk already knew.  Spockh sunk into the wall, crestfallen in the realization.  “You’ve healed nicely,” Kirk praised.  Spockh did not answer.  His mind repeated the only conclusion left for his situation. 

It would be impossible to avoid Kirk’s attentions now. 

Kirk released him and stepped away from him.  Spockh stared in stunned silence.  Why had Kirk stopped?  He clearly wanted him, so why would he stop?  Kirk went back to the door, saying as he left, “Get dressed and get out here now.”  The doors closed behind him. 

Spockh did not know why he hurriedly dressed, but he did, pulling on his black clothing as quickly as he could.  He had done something, he knew, that displeased Kirk.  Was it that he begged him to stop?  He knew he had displeased Kirk earlier with his inexperience and deliberate actions in the transporter room.  But he could not breathe, and did the only thing that he suspected would make Kirk stop.  Did the man not understand that he had very little knowledge of sexual practices, nevermind experience in it?  Did he not understand that the thought of Kirk’s attentions and abuses terrified and sickened Spockh? Sybok had ensured he would remain alive, but what would happen to him if he failed again and again to keep Kirk pleased with him?  The answer was simple: Spockh must do everything he could to keep Kirk content with his presence, no matter how distasteful he found an activity himself.  He would bury his disgust under his Vulcan control of his emotions and his delicate shields.  He would endure this just as he had earlier told his father.  He had to endure this, and not only for himself and his father, but for every other Vulcan aboard this ship.  If he kept Kirk pleased with him, he would likely not take out that dissatisfaction on any other Vulcan.  He drew in a deep breath, hardening his resolve in his decision and his determination.    

Spockh left the fresher unit and stopped mid-step in his departure.  Kirk stood in the middle of his sleeping area, his cold blue eyes trained intently on Spockh’s gaze.  In front of the captain stood a very pretty, petite red-haired girl from whom Kirk had just removed the top of her uniform.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

She looked around the quiet Sickbay, noticing just how empty the room had become since the captain had ordered the separation and relocation of her people by their castes.  Sickbay was a much bigger place, with room to move about it freely now that so many have departed it.  There was only the occasional blue uniform of the science and medical staff, the white of the Terran attending doctors and nurses, the dark reds of the Mind Healers of Vulcan, and the silver of the Healers and physicians of her people. 

There were no more Young among them, unless they were still being tended to by one of the healers, or they were recently birthed to any healers and were thus permitted to remain with their mother.  The captain did not part the very small children from their mothers.  It was a strange choice in her estimation.  Those newborns not birthed by a healer had been accompanied by the mother to join the confinement of the Young, no matter her caste.  She would serve as an additional guardian to the separated Young.  The injured Young  still in Sickbay would be escorted away soon enough, but to where precisely, she could not be certain.  She touched her still flat abdomen worriedly.  If they were still kept aboard this ship in these conditions, what would occur when she birthed her offspring?  She would be permitted to care for her child for a time as the other mothers have been, but what of the time afterward?  Would it be forcibly removed from her care and taken away with the other Young?  Were the Young even alive?  Had Kirk betrayed them all and had the children killed?  She shook her head at the notion.  She did not know many things about the young man, but she did know that he would most likely forbid the execution of the Young.  He had killed a crewman for torturing a girl.  He would not contradict himself by having them all killed after such an act against his own. 

Even if he did, the Warriors were not here to defend them against these vicious humans.  They had been removed and locked away in the ship’s brig.  They did not demonstrate any aggression against the Terrans.  She suspected that may have been due to the compromised mental state of broken familial and mating bonds.  But that they were Warriors was enough of a threat for Kirk.  They were dangerous and that demanded that they be securely confined.  T’Pring looked to where Captain Kirk had cut down a member of his crew for harming the female child.  One of the nurses had cleaned the blood off the floor while a doctor had taken the body away.  She did not know what had been done with the man’s body.  In a respect, she did not wish to know.  It would likely be better that she did not know.  Because of this, she had not asked. 

The Scholars had been taken away as well – she did not know where, but she knew they had been assigned a pair of security to guard the doors to the larger rooms intended to serve as their accommodations.  A communal space was not proper accommodation.  She sighed internally as she reflected on her own situation.  If possible, the Healers and physicians would rotate their rest periods on any available biobeds in the Sickbay facility.  There were no additional and available rooms to house all of them.  The Terran staff members had a small wing of beds off the main observation area, but when McCoy had begun discussions of permitting the Vulcans to use them if they needed rest, the Terrans had rebelled.  At first they had done so loudly and aggressively towards their Chief Medical Officer.  However, when he had responded in equal aggression, they had resorted to a more passive method of countering his demands.  The staff always ensured that a human occupied those beds at all times.  McCoy had come to her then and offered a compromise that he would look the other way if they chose to get some rest on the medical examination biobeds.  T’Pring had delivered his suggestion to three other healers, knowing that the information would be passed amongst themselves until all had become aware.  She did not know how long McCoy’s generosity would last without his staff further rebelling, demanding that the Vulcans not even lie on the same beds on which they would receive medical examinations.  She only knew that she was not about to waste the offer by refusing Doctor McCoy.

The Elders had all been scattered depending on their caste about the ship.  T’Pring would never admit aloud to feeling extreme relief in the continued presence of Pid-kom T’Pau in this Sickbay.  There were several other Elder Healers and Physicians, but none of them comforted her as her grandmother-by-bonding’s presence. 

She thought then of Stonn, her mate, most likely locked in the brig among his caste.  She did not know how long her people would remain on this ship, but it did not matter.  Stonn would not be present to experience her gestation with her.  He may miss the first fluttering of movement within her.  He would miss their child’s telepathic calling for its father.  He may even miss her swelling as their offspring grew inside her.  Sadness overwhelmed T’Pring as she realized that, depending on the length of their captivity and separation, Stonn could very well miss their child’s birth. 

She stumbled as she reached for a physician’s chair near the biobed on which one of her contemporaries slept.  In her grief and longing for her mate, T’Pring fell into it, unashamed of her open emotions.  She missed her mate.  She wanted Stonn with her. 

“It occurred to me that I may need a head nurse for you people,” a familiar voice said from the other side of the biobed.  T’Pring turned around, already knowing she would see the face of Doctor McCoy, her uncle-by-bonding’s new mate.  She thought of him, S’haile Sarek.  He had been fortunate to secure an alliance with this Terran.  He had received private accommodation with the doctor, decent meals, even fresh clothing.  She had been limited to the space of this Sickbay with limited meals.  She had been wearing these silver robes constantly for several days.  Could she push for the basic necessities for her people from this man?  No.  A request like that could only go through the captain.  Perhaps, however, she could persuade this doctor about that as she had previously with her census. 

“Figured you’d be the best – well, the only – candidate for it, since you’re the only damn Healer that talks Standard, and I sure as hell can’t make sense of Vulcan readings yet.”  He had continued speaking as though he did not notice that T’Pring had just mentally evaluated him.  After a moment of silence, he finally looked at her.  “You plan on killing me, darlin’?” 

She realized that she must have narrowed her eyes at him.  Opting for caution, she softened her expression.  “I cannot do so.  You are now my family.”

T’Pring saw the moment McCoy relaxed.  “Well, that’s a relief.  Sarek said something similar once.  Thought the no-killing directive only went for couples, though.”

“It is true _especially_ for a mated pair.”  He nodded, clearly hearing the correction.  “In common practice, the clan members protect one another, whether they are mated to that individual or not.  Vulcans consider clan members quite solemnly and closely.”

McCoy nodded again, taking in the information just provided for him, as he walked around the biobed to stand at her side.  “But I had a question for you, my dear.”

“You are offering me a place among your staff to care for my people.”

McCoy tilted his head strangely.  Human mannerisms and expressions confused her, despite interactions with the Lady Amanda.  “Well, more like a diplomatic thing.  I can’t treat your people, but you can.  I can’t talk to your people, but you can.  I can’t give you free access to all of my bay’s equipment without knowing what you need and why you need it.  That’d be where you come in.  You and the old woman—”

“She is a Matriarch, and an Elder,” T’Pring corrected him.

McCoy stared for only an instant.  She realized that his terminology may have been a deliberate choice so that he would not feel obligated towards Pid-kom T’Pau, who was now Doctor McCoy’s mother-by-bonding.  She regretted reminding him of that.  “You’re the only Healer I can talk to, so, yeah, I’m asking you.”

“Due to an unavailable number of choices rather than preference,” she stated. 

He shook his head slowly, a small smile forming.  “You’re not bad, actually.  Kind of like you.”

She believed him.  “I accept your offer, Doctor McCoy.”

“Good, Healer T’Pring.”  When she saw that he smiled at her as he spoke, she realized that he was teasing her.  Strangely, it relaxed her. 

Her relaxation did not last long when she noticed an odd sound, one she had not heard before in the Sickbay.  “Doctor,” she began, but his expression had twisted into something between anger and confusion. 

“What the hell is that?” he asked no one in particular, looking around, trying to find the source of the hissing sound they both had heard. 

T’Pring heard someone call her from across the bay, a male colleague of hers.  He stared at a location behind them, confusion and dawning fear clear in his expression as he raised a trembling hand to where he gazed.  T’Pring and McCoy both turned to where the Vulcan Healer pointed.  They saw a vent, and through its slits flow some sort of vapor.  It hissed as it passed the vents and into the Sickbay.

McCoy began to stalk quickly through his domain shouting.  “Where the hell’s M’Benga?”  He punched a wall communication device.  “Nurse Chapel!  Where are you?  Why the hell isn’t anyone fucking answering me?”  He pace increased as he went through Sickbay, irately shouting for his second in medicine and his head nurse as he went to the door activation panels. 

T’Pring looked around the room as he did this.  Her people stared in fear or dread at the vapors flowing into the Sickbay, knowing they were unable to flee.  Where would they flee if they could?  They were trapped here.  She saw some of them drift closer to one another for reassurance, for comfort.  Surprisingly, even some of the Terran staff members looked at this mysterious cloud in confused horror with the Vulcans.  They abandoned their tasks and simply watched as the room began to grow hazy. 

A grip on her upper arms brought her back to the present and out of her observations of the room.  “I don’t know why Jim wouldn’t—”

“What is happening?” she asked, unable to stop her voice from shaking. 

McCoy’s face transformed into one of offended rage.  “The sons of bitches locked us all in here!  They’re testing the aerosol inhibitor for you people!”  She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his tension.  McCoy had no idea that this was going to happen at this moment.  He shook his head.  “Jim would’ve told me that—”  He shook his head sharply.  It was then that she realized what was happening. 

The inhibitor was not only affecting the Vulcans.  Humans were also susceptible to it.

“Doctor,” she started but could not finish.  Her legs were getting weak.  She raised panicked eyes to him.  As their eyes met, she knew that he understood what her failed voice could not communicate.  She protectively placed her hand over her stomache as she swayed. 

“Damnit!” he swore, but it was halfhearted as he also began to sway on his feet.  “Come here,” he urged her, using some of his little remaining strength to pull her into his body, as both of their legs buckled.  He held her as they fell, taking the brunt of the impact for them both.  He lost consciousness almost as soon as they landed.  T’Pring did not.  She saw both Vulcans and Humans crumbling one by one to the floor as the inhibitor took them into unconsciousness.  Some individuals had realized what was happening and had chosen to lower themselves to the floor before they were forced to collapse instead. 

T’Pring closed her eyes falling into sleep, distantly hearing others fall as they lost awareness or their legs failed to support them.  Over that sound, however, was the ominous hiss of the vapor that worked to silence everyone in Sickbay. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Kirk’s eyes never left him as he tossed the top of the girl’s uniform to the side, nor when he reached around her to fillboth of his hands with her breasts, pulling her against his chest and trapping her in his arms.  An unsettling and terrifying thought struck Spockh in that moment.  Had he been replaced in Kirk’s bed? 

“This is Ensign Janice Lester,” Kirk introduced as he continued to fondle the girl’s bare upper body.  Spockh did not care who this girl was, what rank she held, her name – nothing.  He wanted the threat of her presence in usurping his unwanted position gone from these quarters.  He did not want to submit to this captain, but he certainly did not want to endure someone else’s abuse, like Mitchell.  He would simply have to prove more satisfying to Kirk than this tiny woman. 

This tiny woman whose neck his captor was currently giving attention to with his lips.  He stopped only long enough to ask, “Can you guess why you’re here?”  She nodded.  “You do?” he pressed.  Spockh understood that he demanded a verbal answer.  Why could this girl not understand that?  Kirk allowed her to remove his hands from her breasts so that she could turn to face him.  It was the first time that he looked away from Spockh.  “Then get to it, Ensign.” 

Spockh watched, completely immobile where he stood, as she began to lower herself to her knees in front of Kirk, her hands reaching for the fastenings of his uniform trousers.  Kirk suddenly grabbed her wrists, restricting her movement.  “No, no,” he cooed at her.  His eyes came back to Spockh.  She looked back and seemed to only now notice his presence. 

“On him?”  The disgust was obvious in her voice.  It was something to which Spockh had long become accustomed. 

“I promised my pet a reward.”

“He’s a Vulcan.”  She spat the word in the same way that Vulcan children had chased him with the terms viltah and sa-fu t’svik. 

 “You’re certainly perceptive.”  Spockh had heard his mother use this tone with his father when she was particularly annoyed with him.  She had once called it sarcasm. 

She turned back to look up at Kirk.  “You want that creature to use me?”

“Is that a problem, Ensign?”  Kirk’s voice had hardened in annoyance.  She remained silent, but everything about her posture and her silence confirmed her digust and displeasure with the situation.  Kirk released her wrists and casually strode to the wall comms device, lifting his hand to open the channel, but not quite activating it.  “Should I call your superiors to make sure they gather the entire department so they can remind you of your place?”

“No, Captain.”  This time, Spockh noted, her answer was immediate. 

Kirk smiled at him, the image of a confident man.  “See, little one?” he said, lowering his hand from the comms.  “One way or another a captain always gets what he wants on his ship.”  He went back to the red-haired girl, still on her knees.  “So now that leaves one question, doesn’t it, Ensign?”

She kept her gaze to the floor.  “What do you want me to do, Sir?”

Kirk ran his fingers through her long hair, brushing it away from her face, mocking the tenderness a lover should display towards his partner.  “I want you to suck his cock like it’s mine.”  He did not wait for her to reply to his command.  Kirk came to Spockh, extending his hand to him.  Spockh did not take it, but allowed Kirk to usher him to the foot of his bed, positioning him so that there was enough of a gap for Kirk to stand behind him.

Ensign Lester had gotten to her feet and stood in front of him.  She tried to keep her displeasure from her face, but Spockh could still see it as she began to undress him.  It was an odd thing, being undressed by this woman.  In moments his body had been stripped by her, the clothing strewn about the sleeping alcove. 

As she sank to her knees before him, she trailed her hands down his chest to rest at his hips.  He wondered when exactly he had grown accustomed to Kirk’s hands on his body.  Her delicate, soft fingers brushing his skin as she removed the clothing he’d only put on moments earlier felt foreign when Spockh mentally compared them to the rougher, calloused texture of Kirk’s hands.  Speaking of which, Kirk had begun methodically rubbing his shoulders from where he stood behind him, focusing on bundles of tense muscles and applying pressure to work them into smoothness.  On occasion, Kirk would brush his dry lips along the back of his neck. 

He did not know what he should do with his own hands, especially when the girl grew bold and wrapped her fingers around his length, the contact surprising him.  He had been mentally focused on Kirk’s hands at his shoulders that he had almost forgotten about her and the instructions that Kirk had given her.  He watched, fascinated and overwhelmed by physical sensation, as she took his organ between her lips, unable to contain the sharp gasp.  He heard Kirk chuckle behind him, the sound deep in his throat.  Kirk ran his hands down along his arms, down past his elbows, past his wrists, until he captured his hands within his own.  Spockh, with the attention the ensign gave to his lower body combined with the overpowering sensation of his hands in the Kirk’s much warmer grip, moaned and shivered.  Kirk’s now moistened lips sought his pulse point in his thorat, distracting him enough that Spockh did not fight him as Kirk brought his captured arms to rest behind his body, trapped between them both.  Spockh could distantly hear the wet sucking sounds the girl’s efforts produced in the otherwise quiet room.  He could not determine if the sound was disgusting or arousing, though, especially not with Kirk’s attentions distracting his senses as they were.  “Do you like it?” he whispered into his ear, just after he stopped his own movements. 

The girl took his length deeply into her throat, the heat surrounding him nearly too much for Spockh.  “Affir—aff—yes,” he groaned.  “I have never exper—”  He could not continue, not with the girl doubling her efforts on him, using her tongue along his length.  Her skill was impressive.  She had clearly done this before, possibly many times.  He released another involuntary moan at the next swipe of her tongue.  Not even Kirk’s tightened grip on his hands could have prevented it. 

“Stop,” Kirk snapped.  Immediately, Spockh felt the warmth of her mouth leave him, the difference in the ambient temperature jarring.  Was this how Kirk felt earlier, so consumed by physical sensation like this?  He felt jealousy, but he could not understand why he would be jealous, or of whom he should be jealous. 

_Should be me._

He felt it as though it had been shouted.  He numbly complied with Kirk’s repositioning of him to the left corner at the foot of the bed.  Kirk urged him to his knees at his side, though his gaze was focused heatedly on the girl.  “Get over here.”  His tone brooked no argument or resistance.    Much like he had earlier, Ensign Lester crawled on her knees to Kirk until she could reach him with her hands.  She deftly exposed his penis to the air of the captain’s quarters, and began to manipulate his partial arousal with her hands.

Spockh did not know if he should give his attention to her activities or if he should only watch Kirk.  “Watch what she’s doing and how she does it,” Kirk instructed him, as though Spockh had expressed his indecision aloud.  Spockh nodded in reply, and Kirk brought his left hand up and into his black hair, stroking him like an obedient domesticated pet.  Oddly, Spockh found the movement soothing in its repetition.  He slid his eyes to the girl, seeing that she now worked Kirk with both of her hands.  “No,” Kirk growled, making her stop at the single syllable.  “Just your mouth.”  She released him and placed her hands on both of Kirk’s still partially clothed thighs.  He slapped one of them like it was an insect.  “I said just your mouth.”  She let her hands slide away from his legs, then leaned forward and began with only her tongue. 

Kirk resumed stroking Spockh’s hair.  “Little one,” he sighed.  “Do you see what she’s doing?”  Spockh nodded.  Of course he could witness it.  “Try to mimic her.”  He did not understand.  How could he possibly?  Spockh noticed him grip her hair in his free hand, his hold much firmer with her, and then he urged her to take him deeper into her mouth than she had been.  He groaned as she began to take his direction. 

Kirk cupped Spockh’s right cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone.  He brought the digit to rest on his closed lips.  Spockh gazed into Kirk’s eyes, seeing the man’s arousal growing.  He knew he had displeased him earlier by deliberately causing pain.  Perhaps he would respond better if he teased him similarly to how Kirk tortured him with his ears and hands.  Spockh did not open his lips, but he parted them only enough to kiss the pad of Kirk’s thumb, watching his eyes for a reaction.  Kirk did not disappoint.  His breath left him heavily through his nose, his bright blue eyes darkening.  “Yes,” he sighed to Spockh, a soft smile curling the left corner of his mouth.  Spockh allowed his lips to part in the smallest of degrees, but it was enough for Kirk.  He slipped the tip of his thumb between Spockh’s lips, but did not go further.  Spockh wondered who was teasing whom.  He tested Kirk by running the tip of his tongue along the flesh of the digit, catching on the clipped nail, then reversing his course.  He felt victorious as Kirk’s mouth opened in a soft sigh.  “Like that.” 

Then, Spockh understood what Kirk meant.  He looked at the girl’s stimulating movements, studyng her a moment, and then slowly began to attempt to imitate her using Kirk’s finger currently between his lips as a replacement for the organ occupying hers.  His pace was much slower than hers, but he was trying to put his observations of her into practice.  He needed to understand what brought Kirk pleasure, and it could not be done carelessly.  Like how he had caused Kirk to stop forcing him in the transporter room by purposefully bringing the human pain, Spockh realized that pleasure was something given with equal purpose.  So long as he brought Kirk pleasure, he would assume that a slower pace could be forgiven. 

_No one’s gonna touch you but me, only me._

Spockh froze abruptly at Kirk’s unvoiced thought.  His telepathy had spiked again, just as his grandmother had cautioned.  However, this particular thought from Kirk proved insightful.  It was the reason why he had stopped the girl’s attention to Spockh.  Kirk was possessive of him. 

Before he could even begin to think of how he could use that knowledge for his own benefit, Kirk spoke, “Look at me.”  Spockh shifted his eyes to Kirk’s, noticing that the ensign had also obeyed Kirk’s order.  Apparently, it was meant only for Spockh.  Kirk’s attention remained solely on him.  The man began to rock his lower body, thrusting into her mouth and taking over the pace.  It took several repetitions of his movements before Spockh realized that Kirk had matched the pace that Spockh had been maintaining with the captain’s finger.  Kirk, like Spockh, moved at a slower rhythm.  However, he did not ease up on the depth for the girl.  He still pushed her onto him, forcing her to take him far into her mouth and throat.  Spockh was grateful that Kirk’s finger could only reach so far into his mouth as he watched her begin to struggle much like he had earlier in the day.

Spockh did not wish to think of the events in the transporter room.  He closed his eyes to avoid watching Ensign Lester have difficulty with Kirk’s length.  He reopened them a moment later when he felt Kirk touching him with his other hand.  He’d released her head to allow himself to explore his face.  Kirk mapped the angles of his jawline, traced along his cheekbone.  He then cupped his lower jaw in both hands, stroking just behind his ears, teasing his earlobe between two fingers.  Kirk knew that Spockh found great pleasure in his ears being touched or kissed, and seemed to enjoy coaxing the moans from Spockh’s throat when he focused on them.  At Spockh’s resultant moan, Kirk sighed and his breath hitched so he could just barely speak.  “Oh, so close.”  Spockh met Kirk’s half-mast eyes and slowly, deliberately sucked on the man’s thumb and dragged his tongue along the digit as he pulled away from it, drawing a long moan from the captain as he did. 

“Come here,” he growled at Spockh, grabbing him by the neck to bring him forward.  Spockh scrambled to obey, rising from his knees and only managing to get one leg onto the bed, folded beneath him.  The other remained planted on the floor, but snug against Kirk’s thigh.  Spockh had come close enough for Kirk to surge toward him like a wave to crash into his captive, their lips meeting violently, mouths open which allowed Kirk to seek Spockh’s tongue with his own.  Spockh heard the ensign choke as she must have been pushed onto him and held there.  He swallowed Kirk’s moan as the human’s entire body tightened in the peak of his pleasure.  Kirk released his neck to rest his hand at his lower right side, the thumb Spockh recently had in his mouth gently stroking his skin there. 

Kirk smiled at him before leaning into him again, kissing along Spockh’s right jaw.  It was a favorite place of Kirk’s, Spockh realized.  He closed his eyes and tilted his head to allow Kirk better access when he felt it, a cold, tiny brush against his bare thigh.  Spockh looked down at his leg and stiffened in fear.  It was a dagger – Kirk’s dagger from where he wore it in his leg-sheath, and the girl clutched it tightly in her bone white hands.  “James!” Spockh cried, pushing Kirk away from him with the limited strength he had, the impact into Kirk’s chest sending himself slightly off-balance and backwards. 

He heard Kirk shout, something tear, and then the dull sound of something being stabbed.  In terror, Spockh looked back at the captain.  Kirk’s arm was bleeding.  He must have been cut by the dagger that was currently planted in the bed.  His reaction was quick.  Kirk grabbed her wrist as she went to remove the dagger.  Spockh instinctively went forward to assist him, thinking to possibly restrain the girl, but as he reached for the girl, Kirk planted his palm directly at his sternum and pushed him off of the bed.  The force of the shove carried Spockh to the floor, his head colliding with the hard wall behind him leaving him dazed and uncoordinated.  He could do nothing but watch. 

It did not take long.  Kirk threw himself forward, bringing both the girl and him the floor in front of the bed.  She still held the dagger, but Kirk had her wrist, squeezing it, weakening her grip with each second.  Strangely, Kirk was laughing.  “You didn’t plan this out, did you?”  She squirmed and screamed as she tried to escape Kirk, but one brutal blow to her head left her as dazed as Spockh felt.  “Killing me gets you nowhere!” Kirk shouted at her. 

“I’d be the—”

“Captain?” Kirk finished, his laughter subsiding into lethal rage.  “No one would follow a woman!  You’d only be the scheming bitch that killed a captain.What happened to Number One should have taught you that.”  He pinned her wrist to the floor, completely ignoring her scratching him with her free hand.  “No one would want you on his ship, and especially not in his bed.”  She bucked frantically underneath him, but Kirk rode her movements effortlessly.  “By killing me, you’d have nothing – no rank, no protection, nothing but the reputation of the ungrateful, betraying, murderous whore that you are.”  She began to scream for help.  Spockh knew that none would come.  His own screams had not brought him assistance.  Hers would result in the same.  “There’s nothing worse than that,” Kirk hissed at her, bringing his face close to hers. 

Finally, her hold on his dagger failed.  He snatched it from her weakened hand.    Then, to Spockh’s surprise, Kirk kissed Ensign Janice Lester, maintaining the contact even as she tried in vain to push him off of her.  He pulled away to gaze at her in a way that Spockh had difficulty identifying.  “But, Janice,” Kirk said, his voice empty of any emotion, “I don’t blame you for trying.” 

Her eyes widened in terror and then in agony.  Spockh backed away from them when he realized what had happened.  Kirk had impaled her throat with his dagger, watching as she understood what had happened to her.  The look in Kirk’s eyes was not the one of sadistic pleasure that Spockh had expected, but instead his eyes shone with regret.  Kirk slid the dagger from her throat, making the girl choke on her own blood.  He brushed back her wild red hair with the blood-soaked blade of the dagger almost tenderly.  “Shame.  I did like you, Janice.” 

Kirk got to his feet and straightened his clothing, picking up the discarded top of her uniform and cleaning his dagger with it before he slid it back to its place at his thigh.  Spockh, now with a full view of the dying girl, could not disguise his own horror at what he’d just witnessed.  He slid himself backwards until he found himself against the captain’s wardrobe drawers, his view of the drowning girl limited now to only her shoulders up.  He did not see her body twitching in its effort to live, but he saw the blood pooling beneath her.  He heard Kirk talking to someone – probably the guards outside of his quarters – but Spockh did not care.  He could not look away from the ensign.  Only after she grew still did he close his eyes, blocking it out as much as he could, knowing that his respiration was far from normal, but not even bothering to try to regulate it.  Spockh brought his legs up against his chest and wound his arms around his knees. 

He could only think of one thing.  Would he be killed as easily as this girl?  What was his permanence in Kirk’s life now?   Was there such a thing as permanence in this captain’s life?  Even with Sybok’s threats, would Kirk resist killing Spockh if he truly wanted to do so? 

The sound of something being placed on the shelf above his head brought him from his panicked thoughts.  Kirk stood above him looking down upon his curled up body.  He still shook from what had happened.  Spockh looked toward the foot of the bed.  The girl was gone.  When had she been taken away?  How did he not hear anything?  Kirk lowered himself into a crouch before him.  Spockh noted that Kirk was not wearing his dagger.  Perhaps he had placed it on the shelf above him.  He tightened his arms around his knees, trying to silently tell Kirk not to touch him.  He knew it would not stop the man from touching him.  This only made Spockh wonder again if anything could stop Kirk from killing him if he wanted.  And that only made Spockh’s breathing even more irregular. 

“Little one,” Kirk called, reaching out to him, stopping when Spockh flinched away.  “Spock,” he tried instead, this time running his hands through Spockh’s hair.  It only made him think of how he did the same to the ensign just before he killed her.  Spockh could not stop shaking.  “It’s okay.” 

Spockh looked at Kirk’s arm.  It had been cut by the girl in the struggle, but now it was cleaned and banadaged.  When had that happened?  He had obviously lost time during his panicked thinking.  Kirk ran his hand along Spockh’s arm, his side, his leg, like he was looking for something.  “Are you okay?” he asked.  He realized that Kirk was checking him for injuries.  Spockh grew more and more confused, but found himself nodding in reply to Kirk’s question.  “Can you get up?”

As Kirk touched him, Spockh scrambled away.  “I will not try to hurt you,” he blurted out as the man’s hand gripped his arm.  He did not want to die like Ensign Lester. 

Kirk looked at him, comprehension slowly dawning on his face.  “That’s my line, little one.”  He took Spockh’s hands and rose to his feet, leaving Spockh no choice but to stand or be pulled along on the floor.  He chose the former.  Kirk’s expression was devoid of all anger as he backed up toward the bed, leading Spockh there by his hands.  When the back of his legs reached the bed, Kirk slowly sat down then brought both of his legs up onto it, never once breaking eye contact or physical contact with Spockh.  Once he situated himself, he lowered himself into a reclining position on his back.  As he went, he slowly pulled Spockh onto the bed with him.  Spockh did not know at first what Kirk wanted of him, but then decided that he needed to try to guess.  His own comfort no longer mattered, not if he wanted to stay alive. 

Spockh positioned his legs on either side of Kirk’s body and slowly lowered himself onto the man, noticing a sadness in Kirk’s eyes that he had never yet seen.  Kirk tightened his grip on Spockh’s hands, but Spockh could not possibly feel pleasure at this moment.  “Are you okay?” he asked again.  Spockh stared at the man below him blankly for a moment before nodding. 

Kirk studied him, taking him in.  Then, he released one of his hands and reached for his face, unable to make the distance due to their position.  “Come here, Spock.”  Spockh folded himself forward into Kirk’s reach, but the captain did not make him come the entire way.  Kirk rose up and kissed him deeply, bringing his arm around Spockh’s body to hold him against his own.  They separated only long enough to look at each other.  Spockh saw his desire reflected back at him in Kirk’s darkened blue eyes.  They came together breathlessly, Spockh resting his hands against Kirk’s chest while the man roamed Spockh’s back before settling to press their bare skin together.  “I want you,” he sighed against Spockh’s lips.   

Spockh did not believe he was ready just yet to have Kirk invade his body as he had the first night.  Not yet.  He did not think he would be capable of enduring it.  What if the man hurt him again?  What if he bled again?  Would Kirk ignore his screams and his pain as he rutted to his own release as he had before? 

But now he knew there was another way to bring Kirk release and pleasure that would avoid his own torture.  Spockh ran his hands down his chest as Kirk continued to kiss him, the man holding Spockh to him by cradling the back of his head.  Kirk held Spockh to him with his arm curled around his body.  Spockh hesitated briefly when he reached the edge of Kirk’s uniform, but he pushed it aside, knowing he must do this to avoid further pain.  He began to undo the fastenings.  Kirk separated from their kiss and looked down, breathless, at Spockh’s trembling fingers as they worked to release him.  Kirk moaned when Spockh brought him out of his clothing, and held him while he tried to tug the uniform off of his legs. 

Kirk leaned back on the bed, lifting his hips and working the uniform further down his legs.  Spockh stood at the foot of the bed and removed the garment fully, folded it, and placed it on the surface in front of the mesh divider.  Spockh took a deep breath before he turned back to Kirk, who was stretched on the bed, propped up on his elbows, smiling encouragingly at him, completely unashamed and comfortable in his nudity.  “Come here,” he whispered so quietly Spockh could barely hear him. 

Spockh went to him, climbing back onto the bed, and shifting Kirk’s legs to enable himself to nestle in the space between them.  This way, Spockh knew he could silently convey what he wanted to do, instead of asking for it, or allowing Kirk to assume that Spockh desired penetration.  He did not.  Kirk smiled at him, settling himself on the bed further.  “Go on, little one,” he said, revealing how much he approved.  “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Spockh swallowed nervously, wet his lips, exhaled, and then lowered his body and took the tip of the waiting organ inside his mouth.


	14. Precarious Alliances

As soon as everyone else in the Mess saw his companion, Chekov had not been approached or spoken to by any other crewmember.  He led his young wife, T’Kyi’i, to the replicators, silently.  He kept close to her, focusing on choosing a meal for the two of them while she looked around the room curiously.  The sadistic tension permeated the room.  Chekov frowned at the nearest crewman leering at them.  If anyone there expected him to strike, berate, or humiliate his wife for their twisted pleasures, then they would all be very disappointed.  He refused to do any such thing.

T’Kyi’i accepted the meal from him as he programmed his own.  “Where will we sit?” she whispered. 

Chekov looked at her and could see the nervousness obvious in her eyes.  “I have usual place,” he replied just as quietly, though the room had grown so silent that everyone probably heard them.  “Come,” he said as he directed her to his usual table.  It was only after he said it and she followed him one step behind that he realized how much like a command that single word sounded. 

He waited by the table closest to the corner of the room, which he shared with Kirk, Reilly, or Sulu, depending on the duty assignments and the time of day.  Kirk tended only to eat among the crew during lunch hours, all other meals he took in his quarters.  He preferred to begin and end his days at his own pace.  Whenever he did join Chekov for lunch, he would choose the least accessible seat, the one nestled in the corner.  T’Kyi’i claimed the very same chair that Kirk favored.  Chekov found it interesting, but he doubted his wife wanted to hear about her similarities with the man that captured the survivors of her people and confined them to inadequate quarters.  She understood that with the sheer number of captives aboard, there were very few options, other than the naively utopian, to afford them even the most basic of care.  She did not approve, however.  Chekov suspected a large deal of her discontentment stemmed from her brother being held in the brig among the other Warriors.  She did not speak of her brother, and he did not pressure her to do so.  She would share her thoughts on these topics when she was ready, he knew. 

“Is food okay?” he asked her gently.  She nodded, silent.  Gone was the young Vulcan woman who had been so determined to make a point to her captors. 

 

_“Is it permitted for me to leave these rooms?” T’Kyi’i asked as Chekov brushed his teeth over the sink._

_He had to spit in order to answer her.  “I don’t think on your own, but with me and—”  He cut himself off, trying to think of a different wording, and coming up with a very poor substitute. “—only in places that don’t require access code or clearance.”_

_She nodded, understanding.  He stubbornly continued to brush his teeth despite having just spit out most of the foaming paste.  “What about places in which food is eaten?”_

_Realizing that she planned on pursuing this, he rinsed his mouth so that he could talk with her.  “You wish to go to Mess?”_

_“To make a mess?” she asked._

_He understood immediately that they were dealing with a language barrier.  “Mess is like dining room, but on ship.”_

_She narrowed her eyes.  “And it is messy?”_

_He smiled.  “No, no.  Not messy.  I do not know why we call it that.  It is just Mess.”_

_T’Kyi’i almost managed to conceal her amusement, but Chekov still saw it – and all of it in her eyes.  He wanted to tell her that her request was as harmless as she likely assumed it to be, but he did not wish to lie to her.  “If other crew sees you, they could hurt you.”  He hated that her eyes lost their gleeful sparkle because of his words.  “I do not want that.  I do not want you hurt.”_

_She lowered her eyes to the floor.  Chekov wondered if she would protest or acquiesce to what he didn’t bluntly state.  He wanted her safe, and he knew the only place that the odds were closest to a guarantee of her safety was in his quarters.  She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his.  “If I stay locked away like this, I will be nothing more than a private treasure for you.  I have other uses than a precious object to be kept hidden away.”_

_‘Is that what she thinks?’ Chekov thought in dismay.  “You are not object,” he insisted.  “I want you safe.”_

_T’Kyi’i shook her head and stood firm.  “Your people will never begin to accept mine on this ship until, and unless, they see Vulcans among them.  As the only unconfined Vulcans aboard are my uncle, my cousin, and me, we are the only options to begin that process.  With the captain’s duties taking him to command, I find it unlikely that he brings Spockh with him.  The doctor’s duties confine him, and thus my uncle, in the medical wing of this ship.  You are more able to mingle with the crew.  I wish to accompany you among them, since I am the most mobile of all of the three unconfined Vulcans aboard.”_

_Chekov knew that her assumption about her relatives was most likely correct.  He knew Kirk, and the captain would certainly not allow his captive to the bridge to watch the command center of the ship on which he remained a prisoner.  And he knew McCoy.  The man barely left Sickbay.  When he did, he tended to go straight to his quarters or to Kirk’s, preferring to take his meals away from the crew.  He liked to meet them on his own terms – in his Sickbay usually.  If McCoy continued his habitual practices, then T’Kyi’i was right.  Her uncle would follow McCoy closely or remain in either McCoy’s quarters or the Sickbay.  T’Kyi’i was the only one who would be able to start the process of intermingling among their races.  He did not like it, but he could not deny her reasoning._

_He nodded.  “Then, let’s go,” he said, leading her from his quarters._

 

Chekov looked around the Mess, seeing the disgust, disapproval, and – in some cases – open lust aimed at T’Kyi’i.  “We won’t stay long,” he promised.  Just long enough to finish their morning meal, if they could.  He saw her tension, her nervousness.  She lost the confidence and surety she’d had in his quarters while making her argument. 

He opened his mouth to offer some comforting and encouraging words when they were joined at their table by two of his shipmates, Hikaru Sulu and Nyota Uhura.  They glanced at Chekov’s wife and then continued their conversation as though the Vulcan did not exist. 

“I heard that the captain is making you teach them Standard,” Sulu said to Uhura as he tore into his breakfast.  “That’s insulting for you.  Why would he order you to go through all that trouble?”  His tone made it no secret that he detested the idea of the Vulcan captives learning the language used on the ship. 

Uhura glanced at T’Kyi’i briefly before answering nonchalantly, “I think he’s trying to groom himself some Vulcan crew members or something.”  That was something Chekov had not even heard.  He looked at T’Kyi’i and saw her piqued interest, though she concealed it by staring at her food.  Chekov knew that she was focused intently on the conversation.

“Are you—you can’t be serious,” Sulu stuttered.  “Why would he even bother putting these slaves to work?  I suppose next you’ll tell me he plans to treat them as our equals, aren’t you?”  Chekov didn’t have to look at her to know that his wife tensed uneasily.  She had slowed her eating pace.  That proved her level of discomfort to Chekov.  Sulu didn’t even wait for Uhura’s reply before continuing to speak, stabbing his fork into his breakfast viciously like he’d prefer to be stabbing a person.  “The day I work with, or even next to, one of those pointed-eared demons is the day I’m made captain of my own ship.”

“So, you mean never,” Uhura clarified, aiming a sarcastic smile at the Security Chief.  “It could still happen, you know.”  Chekov didn’t know what she meant, whether Sulu would become a captain one day or if Sulu would find himself forced to work alongside a Vulcan. 

“Not while it’s still Kirk’s ship,” Sulu grumbled. 

Uhura sipped her tea, stalling.  When Sulu didn’t speak, she looked at the man and spoke with a low and deadly voice.  “Then, you better get on another ship, Sulu.  There are plenty others to serve aboard.” 

Sulu sneered, finally acknowledging T’Kyi’i’s presence.  Chekov wished that he’d gone on ignoring her.  She must have felt Sulu’s gaze on her as she raised her eyes to meet his.  “If it were my ship, the Vulcans wouldn’t have stepped foot off the transporter pad.  I would have put them down like the savage beasts they are.”  Sulu stared at T’Kyi’i, a smile slowly spreading on his face as she began to shake.  “I could start with this little bitch.” 

Chekov knew that he couldn’t confront Sulu here or now.  There were too many people that would jump into the fight and most likely kill him for challenging the Head of Security.  Also, if he were to do that, he knew T’Kyi’i would never leave the Mess alive.  He held his tongue, and made no move – either to provoke Sulu or to comfort his wife. 

Sulu, seemingly displeased with Chekov’s restraint, leaned back in the chair.  “But I’m not in the mood to kill her right now.  I have to be on the bridge for duty.”  His breakfast finished, Sulu stood up and left.  In that moment, Chekov decided that he would never eat with the man again.  They had been tentative friends, but that friendship ended the moment Sulu threatened to murder his wife. 

As soon as the doors slid shut behind Sulu, T’Kyi’i turned to him.  “I wish to leave.  You were right.  I apologize.”  Her words upset Chekov more than her intial request to come here for their meal.  He reached towards her and rested his hand on hers, trying to silently persuade her to at least finish her meal before they left, to give her strength to remain here.  She glanced at her food, and then shook her head.  “Please,” she said quietly.  “Please I wish to leave.”  She had wanted so firmly to come here, and now all she wanted to do was run back to his quarters. 

“If you are sure,” he prompted.  She nodded once, her head lowered, and her eyes down.  “Then, let’s go,” Chekov said, standing. 

They walked back to his quarters in silence.  Chekov thought about how he could possibly make living on this ship bearable for his new wife.  He didn’t want her hurt by the crew.  If they all were going to respond to her presence as Sulu did in the Mess, then her pain was inevitable.  The least he could do was provide her with a safe place in his quarters where she could relax and feel unthreatened.  They were married, after all, and he did not want his wife to fear him.  An idea struck him as he gave her access to his quarters.  “How do you say ‘wife’ in Vulcan?” he asked, his question stopping her from fully entering the living space. 

Despite her obvious surprise, she answered immediately.  “Ko-telsu.”

He tested it in his head.  “And the word for ‘my’?”

“T’nash-veh.”

He nodded.  “T’nash-veh ko-telsu,” he said, trying to call her what she was.  His wife. 

T’Kyi’i giggled at him.  “Ko-telsu t’nash-veh,” she corrected him. 

Chekov smiled at her, trying to show her that he understood that she did not ridicule him with her amusement.  “I will return to you after duties, ko-telsu t’nash-veh,” he promised.

He knew he made the correct gesture when he saw the moisture shining in her eyes, and the soft smile on her lips.  Chekov stepped back and allowed the door to hiss shut and secure itself, protecting his wife within, before he turned and reported to the bridge for duty.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He did not move or make a sound as he awakened so as not to alarm the man beside him.  Spockh’s own alertness so soon after sleeping surprised him.  Since his captivity and being claimed by Kirk, he had never awakened before the human.  Kirk had always coaxed him from sleep with his touches.  But for some reason this time, Spockh needed no coaxing to face his reality.  He did not wish to move.  He did not wish to wake Kirk yet.  This was a rare moment of tranquility and Spockh wished to relax in that moment. 

The bedding had been pulled up over the two of them, but Spockh could not remember how or when that had occurred.  He was situated on the bed where Kirk preferred to keep him – between the captain and the wall.  Spockh suspected that placing him there lessened the odds of him attempting an escape.  Surely Kirk had to know that Spockh intended no such thing. 

Where would he flee?  He could never hide indefinitely on this ship without discovery, and he did not desire to know what kind of treatment awaited him should someone like Mitchell or Sulu locate him were he to run.  Kirk, despite his brutality and dominating nature, was a far more preferable jailor than others on this vessel. 

Then, it occurred to him.  Kirk was sleeping on his side instead of his back.  Since he had been taken to this young captain’s bed, Kirk had always slept on his back.  In his sleep, Spockh had sought the human’s warmth and unconsciously pressed himself to the man, siphoning from him the heat necessary for his survival.  Perhaps that is why he was cooler than he had been the last several days in this bed beside this man.  Spockh closed his eyes and recalled what had happened before he had fallen into slumber. 

 

_He knew he was performing inadequately, but he continued to try to please Kirk with his efforts.  Taking the man’s thumb into his mouth was a much different experience and far less taxing than taking the man’s organ between his lips.  But he stayed there, determined to please him, determined to avoid the same fate as Ensign Lester.  The thought of how Kirk had so casually killed her overwhelemed Spockh’s senses.  He faltered in his oral attentions and took more of the captain’s length into his mouth than for which he had been prepared.  He choked and withdrew completely, closing his eyes to avoid witnessing Kirk’s anger, dissatisfaction, or disappointment – perhaps all three at once.  He allowed only one full breath to pass through his lungs before he slowly lowered his lips onto Kirk’s organ, earning a voiceless moan for his actions._

_Spockh felt his entire, nude body shaking where he’d nestled himself between Kirk’s outstretched legs.  He tried to control it.  His terror and nervousness increased unexpectedly fast.  He would never complete this task he’d set out to do at this rate.  Spockh redoubled his efforts, sucking Kirk for as long as possible without gagging before slowly pulling away.  Kirk moaned.  Spockh looked toward the man’s face, grateful that it was angled to the ceiling, and thus he could not see Spockh’s distress.  Good.  He must keep Kirk distracted.  No.  He must keep Kirk pleased with him.  If he did not, Kirk would demand satisfaction in other ways, or he would likely share the same fate as Ensign Lester._

_Again, her convulsing, bloody body came to his mind, and again Spockh faltered in his task of orally pleasing Kirk, and this time, it did not go unnoticed.  Kirk lifted his head to look straight at him.  “Spock, what’s—are you—”_

_Spockh said nothing to him, but instead he lowered his mouth to the base of the man’s organ, then ran only his tongue up the entire shaft until he reached the very tip before finally taking it fully between his lips again.  Whatever Kirk had been trying to ask him died off with a low groan.  His head fell back onto the pillow, but his hands came up to hold him by the hair, keeping him immobile as Kirk began to move his hips, thrusting into Spockh’s mouth.  All Spockh could imagine was how Ensign Lester had felt as Kirk had forced her onto him, how she had choked on Kirk’s flesh, how she had choked on her own blood.  Spockh’s shaking increased, and his panic rose.  He could not do this.  Why had he initated this?_

_Because he did not wish to lie beneath Kirk as the man violated his body.  If he failed to please him with his mouth, then Kirk would take his pleasure on his own terms and use him as he had the first night.  Spockh’s thoughts and emotions whirled in a cycle of panic that he could not control.  He could not get his own shaking under control, which did not allow him to follow the silent commands Kirk gave with the pressure of his hands in Spockh’s hair, which only made him fail worse at pleasing the human.  Spockh sobbed in frustration and despair around the organ in his mouth.  The cycle began again.  Shaking, failure to respond to Kirk’s demands, failure in giving the man pleasure to avoid his own pain._

_With a groan of frustration, Kirk yanked on Spockh’s hair which pulled him off of the man’s erection.  “Get up here!” he growled.  Spockh awkwardly climbed over Kirk’s left leg and let the man pull him up the bed by the grip he had on his hair.  He could not stop his tears from blurring his vision in his panic.  “Lie down,” Kirk snapped._

_Spockh practically fell onto the bed at Kirk’s side.  In an instant he was pushed onto his back with Kirk’s weight pressed down onto him.  The captain roughly spread Spockh’s legs and then brought himself to lie comfortably between them.  Spockh shuddered, and closed his eyes, forcing the moisture out of them to stream across his temples and into his disheveled hair.  He dared not protest whatever Kirk was about to do to him.  He had failed to please the man, and the man’s displeasure with him always resulted in punishment.  Then, Kirk’s weight was gone, but he still felt the dip where the captain’s knees were on the bed._

_“Look at me,” Kirk demanded._

_Spockh forced himself to open his eyes and look at his captor.  One of Kirk’s hands furiously pumped his own organ, while the other reached between them.  Spockh jumped as he felt Kirk’s finger run along his body’s entrance.  Kirk’s breathing was erratic, labored, as he stroked himself harder and rougher.  Soon enough, his breaths were joined by his voice.  “Don’t ever start what you can’t finish, little one,” Kirk said, his voice softer than in minutes previous.  No sooner than his second long moan did the captain stiffen in climax, his hand still working himself as, suddenly and unexpectedly to Spockh, Kirk spurted, the thick semen landing on Spockh’s chest and stomach obscenely, the hot fluid scalding his skin._

_Spockh looked up at Kirk in barely disguised pain that he knew the human mistook for disgust.  The relief that Kirk had not taken him as he had on his first night combined with being overwhelemed by everything that had happened during that day caused Spockh to abruptly lose consciousness._

Spockh ran his hand along his own chest, finding with surprise that Kirk’s fluids had been cleaned from his body.  He opened his eyes and found himself looking directly into into the cold, blue eyes of the captain.  His smile was predatory.  “Fond memories?” he asked, in a tone that made it clear he referred to their most recent encounter. 

Spockh froze and deliberately hardened his gaze.  “No,” he answered. 

Kirk’s smile did not fade as he reached for him.  Spockh resisted the instinct to flinch as the human cupped his jaw, his thumb stroking his skin.  Spockh broke eye contact with him, hoping to discourage his attentions by giving none to him.  “You’ve calmed down since you’ve slept a little.”  Spockh did not think those words required a response, and so he stayed silent.  Apparently, this was not what Kirk wanted.  “You know why I killed her, don’t you?” he asked.  Spockh nodded silently.  “Why?” Kirk pressed him for an answer.

“Because she tried to kill you,” he whispered, still tired from the overwhelming emotions he’d experienced in the last several hours. 

Kirk licked his lips as he studied Spockh.  “Had she succeeded, she wouldn’t have stopped with me.”  He slid his hand away from Spockh’s jaw to rest on the column of his throat.  “She would have gone for you next.”  For the briefest instant, Spockh thought his captor was invested in whether he lived or died.  Perhaps he did somehow manage to please him even with his inexperienced attempts.  “And in that event, my ship is left vulnerable to your brother’s promise of vengeance for your death.”  With those words, Spockh knew that his only value to Kirk was as a hostage.  “I need you alive,” Kirk said.  Spockh sighed, realizing that he had been saved from death by Ensign Lester’s attempt solely because he had value only while he remained alive.  He was not truly useful, except as a shield to prevent Sybok from attacking Kirk’s ship. 

He was not even useful anymore as a body in which Kirk could take his pleasure.  He had clearly proven unsatisfying in that area.  If he served no purpose, then…  “Why do you keep me here?” he asked.  Spockh saw that the question surprised Kirk.  He stared at him uncomprehendingly.  “The only purpose you have demanded that I serve is to please you physically.”  He struggled to speak the words, to discuss with the man who had forcibly taken his innocence why Spockh still remained in these quarters.  It should have been obvious to Kirk.  Spockh should not have had to remind him why Kirk had taken him from the other Vulcans and kept him separate in here.  Kirk clearly wished to overpower him in the most ancient and brutal fashion that could be demonstrated between two people.  “I clearly disappoint you in this.  So, why have you not discarded me?”

Kirk said nothing as he traced Spockh’s bare body, trailing his hand from Spockh’s throat, down his chest, and then snaking back to his side, where he stopped just at Spockh’s heart.  He stroked Spockh’s skin gently, almost tenderly.  “You don’t displease me, Spock.”  Spockh must have made a sound of disbelief to make Kirk dart his eyes up to find his so quickly.  “I know you don’t believe that.”

Spockh did not know where his boldness came from in those moments.  “Why did you choose me?  Of all of my people, why did you choose me?”

Kirk breathed deeply as he shifted closer to him, pulling Spockh closer to him by the hand curled around his side by his heart.  Their bare skin met along much of their bodies and the sensation of it made Spockh shiver.  “I just know that I wanted you as soon as I saw you,” Kirk said, quietly.  He slid his right arm through the tiny space left open between Spockh’s shoulder and the pillow.  “I don’t even know why.  There were plenty of others who would’ve been smarter choices for one, but as soon as you materialized on the pad—”  Kirk broke off and shifted closer still to Spockh, bringing their bodies flush against each other. 

“Smarter choices for what?” Spockh asked through his discomfort at Kirk’s body pressing against his own. 

“For a bedwarmer and personal guard all in one Vulcan.”

Spockh brought his brows together in complete confusion.  Kirk did not make any sense.  “But I am not a Warrior,” he blurted. 

“I know,” Kirk agreed.  “That didn’t matter anymore because I wanted to touch you so much that I didn’t bother looking for a personal guard.  I saw you and I knew I had to have you.”  Then, he smiled softly.  “But then I realized on the bridge earlier after that little meeting we had that I can have both with you.”  Spockh knew his confusion must have been visible to Kirk.  “One of your brother’s conditions to an alliance was that you would be trained as a Warrior.  Something about being your father’s only heir?”  Spockh found himself nodding.  “Do you understand?”

Spockh nodded again.  “You wish for me to serve you like this,” he could not explicitly state the sexual nature of this arrangement without feeling ill.  “And yet you also wish me to protect you?  I cannot do that if you keep me weak with your injections,” he tried to protest. 

“You already tried when Janice attacked me,” Kirk reminded him.  He let his hand wander from Spockh’s heart, conforming to the shape of his posterior, and then curling around his thigh.  “But I needed to focus on her then, not you.”    Slowly, Kirk repositioned Spockh’s leg to rest on his hip.  Spockh did not resist as Kirk took his hand and brought his arm around his ribs to lie at Kirk’s shoulder blade.  “You would’ve been in the way.”  Kirk looked Spockh in the eyes as he brought his own hand behind Spockh to press against his lower spine, holding him against Kirk’s body.  “And I want you alive,” Kirk said before he claimed Spockh’s lips. 

Kirk curled his right arm up and around Spockh’s shoulders, effectively trapping him against the captain.  Spockh tried to pull away, but Kirk pursued him until they hit the wall that Kirk preferred Spockh sleep nearest.  Spockh was pinned against the wall by Kirk’s warm body, the human lazily grinding his pelvis against him as he continued to kiss him. 

Kirk separated their joined lips to lick along Spockh’s throat.  Spockh obediently lifted his chin to accommodate.  “Besides,” Kirk breathed against the saliva coating Spockh’s throat.  The warmth of his breath heating that moisture proved a powerful physical sensation for Spockh.  “I think you deserve something for saving my life.”  Of all things for Kirk to say to him, that had not even crossed Spockh’s mind.  He gasped in surprise, but he was silenced by Kirk claiming his lips again. 

“As your reward,” Kirk said, breathlessly when he broke their kiss.  “I’ll stop using the hypos on you for now.  You behave and they’ll stay away.”  He pushed firmly against Spockh, pressing him securely against the wall.  “You stop obeying me, and we go right back to keeping you docile with them.  Would you like that?”

Spockh nodded.  “Yes,” he replied.  He still shook in Kirk’s arms, knowing what the man was most likely about to demand of him, yet dreading it. 

Kirk’s gaze hardened.  “What did I say to you before?” 

Spockh understood immediately what the man wanted.  “James.” 

Kirk’s bright eyes darkened in arousal.  Only a second after Spockh noticed the shift did he find his body pulled from the wall and astride the human’s figure, the man’s hands grasping his hips firmly, as he helped Spockh to rock against his growing hardness.  Spockh had no other option but to brace his hands on Kirk’s chest.  “Ride it,” Kirk ordered him.  Spockh stared at him in horror.  To obey this command would be impossible.  He had no desire to actively participate in this.  Submitting to Kirk’s will in order to survive was something completely different than deliberately and willingly taking part in this kind of interaction. 

“Please, no,” he begged.  “Please, don’t.”  Spockh regretted giving the man what he had wanted and called him by his name.  He should have known it would have aroused Kirk and lead them to such a situation.  He had been prepared to be assaulted by the captain, but not this.  That Kirk did not penetrate him as he so easily could have in this moment surprised him, but did nothing to calm him.  Kirk’s looming threat of sexual dominance still remained clear. 

“The deal I offered with the hypos,” Kirk panted, tightening his hold on Spockh’s hips, but abandoning trying to move him. “That’s not without conditions.”  Instead, Kirk opted to thrust upward against his captive.   “Other than the normal, you know them, come on,” he prompted.

Spockh was rocked atop of the human by Kirk’s hard thrusting.  “Obey you, do not kill you, and do not betray you,” he answered, obediently, feeling his panic rising again. 

“Good, little one,” purred Kirk.  “Come closer,” he demanded.  Spockh, just as he had earlier, though Kirk’s thrusting made it harder for him to keep his balance, leaned forward towards Kirk.  “What was another condition we discussed in here?” he asked.

“That I never wear clothing in your bed,” Spockh replied quickly.

“Yes,” Kirk acknowledged.  “But there was one more yet.”  Spockh thought frantically, panicking as Kirk smiled up at him.  He grabbed the back of Spockh’s head.  “Here’s a hint,” he said, and then kissed Spockh deeply.  Then, Spockh remembered.  He was always to kiss Kirk back.  Spockh responded to Kirk’s kiss hesitantly.  Kirk stopped thrusting as Spockh responded to him, releasing his hips to frame his face instead. 

A high-pitched chirp sounded in the room.  Without parting from the kiss, Kirk held Spockh against him by the back of his skull, while his now free hand blindly searched along the shelf at the head of the bed.  “Mitchell to Captain,” a voice from the device said.  Spockh stiffened in fear.  Mitchell, the man that had tortured him in the lift and then beaten him publicly in Sickbay, was calling for Kirk.  Mitchell, the man who had threatened to rape him daily, to starve him, to chain him like a beast, called for Kirk, the captain. 

“Kirk here,” the captain answered as he pushed Spockh off of him and to his left.  “What is it?”  Spockh looked to Kirk, but the captain did not seem to be interested in his presence any longer. 

“We’ve had contact from Captain Pike.”

Kirk sat up fast.  “What?  He escaped?”  Spockh watched the myriad of emotions cross Kirk’s expression before all of them were buried in a mask of worry.  Curiously, Spockh reached out to touch Kirk’s hand, hoping that his erratic telepathy would allow him to sense something.  As Mitchell began to answer, Kirk swatted Spockh’s hand away harshly.  For a reason he could not understand, Kirk’s reaction disturbed Spockh. 

“He’s on his way in a shuttle.  He commanded we alter course to meet him.”

Kirk nodded.  “Good.”  The relief was obvious in his expression.  “How far apart are we?”  Spockh stood up from the bed and headed to the fresher, hesitating momentarily at the place where Ensign Lester died. 

“We should meet within the next two and a half hours, Captain.”  

Spockh heard nothing further as the door separating the fresher and the sleeping area closed, cutting the conversation off.  Spockh stood in the middle of the tiled floor, thinking why the discussion taking place between Mitchell and Kirk could have concerned the latter so strongly.  This Captain Pike must be important – either to the Empire or to Kirk personally.  Spockh could not deny his own curiosity as to which scenario would be closer to the truth.  Perhaps he could ask Kirk.  But if the captain did not like him asking the question, he would likely be punished.  Spockh swallowed, uncertain then if he should even bother asking. 

Kirk’s indifferent manner in which he had removed him from his position astride the captain jarringly reminded Spockh what precisely he had become since being taken from his doomed planet and aboard this ship.  It was the same position as Ensign Lester, the same as Yeoman Rand.  He was weak, a disgrace to his family line, his people, and nothing of greater value than use as a sexual outlet for the captain. 

In that moment, Spockh realized something that terrified him more than the night Kirk claimed his innocence.    He looked back to the door that led back to Kirk.  He needed answers to questions that could not wait.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

As McCoy struggled to wake up faster than he reasonably could, he wasn’t even surprised to find Sarek standing at the side of the biobed, staring at him.  “I felt your distress,” the Vulcan stated.  McCoy knew he meant through their new bond.  “It took a level of persuasion in order to gain access to this location, but, as you can deduce, my efforts succeeded.”  McCoy almost wished he could’ve seen that conversation.  He wondered what Sarek had said to get himself here.  He shook his head to help clear his mind of any remaining sleep and disorientation.  As he went to sit up, Sarek planted his palm in the center of his chest, preventing him from moving.  “Do not move too quickly.”  McCoy pushed Sarek’s arm aside.  Were this occurring in his quarters, he may have given into his husband’s urging, but not here in the middle of his Sickbay. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from one eye with a swipe of his fingers.  He looked at Sarek, preferring to read people’s facial expressions than trusting in their voices alone.  As a doctor, bodies were his business, alive or dead.  “How long was I out?”

It wasn’t Sarek that answered.  “Two hours longer than all the Vulcans.”  McCoy turned around, already knowing he would find T’Pring.  However, her supplied answer did not comfort him at all.  Quite the opposite, in fact.

His worry and unease must’ve been visibly obvious when Sarek reclaimed his attention.  “You were merely asleep, Doctor.  You had awakened briefly in the timeframe mentioned by my neice-by-bonding, but you remained quite agitated and your distress had not lessened.”  Sarek shifted on his feet, uncomfortably.  “I had assisted you in properly achieving the rest you required.”

McCoy wasn’t sure if he liked the way that sounded.  “You kept me asleep.  You people can do that?”  This was an unexpected skill of Vulcans, if they could make humans fall asleep whenever they wished.  Did Jim know that?  Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea to keep the Vulcans confined if they had that kind of ability.  He still needed a sedative hypo to do that. 

Sarek touched his arm and through their contact McCoy heard his husband’s voice in his head.  ‘I transferred feelings of peace and calm in order to soothe the anger and fear in your subconscience.’

McCoy didn’t want to talk in his head.  There was nothing wrong with his voice.  “Damn right I was afraid,” he admitted quietly.  “And pissed.”  As he said it, he felt his anger returning.  “I don’t know who authorized testing that damn compound in my Sickbay without telling me, but I’m gonna find out.”  He brought his legs to the side, preparing to stand up from the biobed.  He wondered for a moment who had thought to put him on it.  He realized that it was probably Sarek when he arrived.  Not many others would have cared enough for his well-being.  Besides, he doubted that T’Pring would have hauled him onto the bed, though she might have.  These two Vulcans were among his very few allies in his own Medical Wing.  He sure as hell didn’t trust M’Benga or Chapel near him. 

“Your captain, most likely,” Sarek guessed aloud. 

McCoy shook his head, looking at the Vulcan.  “We’re close,” he said, firmly.  “He wouldn’t do that without a warning.”

Sarek’s gaze hardened unforgivingly.  “He does many things without warning to my son.” 

He returned his husband’s angry gaze, fiercely.  “I know you don’t like it, but you agreed to this deal.  And, for all things considered, your boy’s handling it all better than, I think, anyone’s expected.”  With a huff, he got off the biobed and dusted himself off.  He needed to take his anger out on something, even if it were imaginary dirt on his clothes. 

“It is different,” Sarek persisted, obviously ignoring McCoy’s dismissal of the conversation, “when it is your child that suffers instead of yourself.”

The words rooted McCoy where he stood, as an image flashed in his mind of a small throat bruised by punishing fingers.  He whirled to face Sarek, his quick movement taking the Vulcan by surprise.  When he spoke, his voice was low and deadly.  “I know, Sarek.  Believe me, I know better than most what it feels like to know you couldn’t or weren’t there to protect your kid when they were purposefully hurt.  I know what you’re going through.” 

He knew that Sarek didn’t believe him even before the sardonic reply came.  “Do you?”

McCoy turned away from his husband with a vicious growl.  “Yeah, I do.”  He needed to find a padd.  He had work to do.  He tended to bury himself in work when he thought of his past.  It calmed him down, prevented him from lashing out at someone.  The closest target was Sarek, and he didn’t want to hurt him.  T’Pring thrust a device at him like she knew it had been his goal.  It displayed some sort of report.  “What the hell’s this?”

T’Pring did not flinch nor hesitate.  “This information should suffice for the transfers.” 

“What?”  His mind was still consumed with images of his past.  He shook his head trying to catch up to the present. 

T’Pring nodded to the padd’s display.  “After the meeting you attended several hours earlier, and before you offered me a position as a member of your staff, you asked me to compile a list of eligible members of my people for transfer to the Romulan vessel as agreed upon by this ship’s captain.  This is that list.”

He took the padd and skimmed through some of the names.  The names alone meant nothing to him.  It seemed that T’Pring also knew that.  She had provided further information on each suggested transfer, making particular note as to whether or not the listed Vulcan had living family aboard the ship, if they were ill, or if they were either elderly or very young.  McCoy nodded then headed toward the turbolift. 

“Where are you going?” Sarek asked, stopping McCoy’s stride. 

He looked at Sarek.  “I gotta see the captain about this.”  A shift in expression occurred in Sarek’s expression.  McCoy recognized it for what it was and sighed.  He decided that he needed to offer the proverbial olive branch.  “Your boy’s probably with him.  You want to see him?”

Sarek nodded slowly.  “Very much.”

McCoy took out his communicator.  “McCoy to Captain.”  To his Vulcan husband he said, “Well, come on, then.”  Kirk hadn’t answered yet.  He tried again, “McCoy to Captain.”

When Kirk responded, his breathing was heavy.  “Kirk here.  What do you want, Bones?” 

McCoy heard the unmistakable sound of flesh colliding rhythmically.  “I need to talk to you about the transfers going to the Romulans.”

Kirk groaned, but not at McCoy’s words.  It was a groan of pleasure.  McCoy glanced uncomfortably at Sarek, who looked at his communicator murderously.  “Can it wait?” Kirk asked, testily.  “I’m a little busy right now.”  Both McCoy and Sarek heard a sharp gasp that did not come from Kirk.  At the sound of Kirk’s next hard thrust, that gasp became a whimper.  “Shh, little one,” Kirk whispered, “Shh.”  To McCoy, Kirk said with labored breaths, “Fine, come to my quarters.  Might be a few minutes, though.  We’re still busy.  Kirk out.”  He left the communicator active just long enough for McCoy and Sarek to hear him pick up the pace and coax another moan from the young Vulcan he had with him. 

The turbolift opened and admitted them.  McCoy couldn’t look at Sarek.  He knew that the Vulcan was incensed with rage at what they’d heard, and McCoy couldn’t blame him.  If he’d been in Sarek’s position, listening to what his husband had just heard, he’d want to kill Kirk, too.  He knew that Sarek wanted nothing more than Kirk’s death for what he’d done – what he was currently doing – to his son.  McCoy swallowed his nausea.  For the first time in their acquaintance, James T. Kirk disgusted him.  His closest friend disgusted him.  Yet he knew that he would protect the man, even from an enraged father whose murderous desire McCoy found completely justified. 

But this silence was also unbearable.  So McCoy spoke. 

“I found my little girl in her bed when I came home one night.  She’d been strangled.”  The ease in which he could speak the words surprised him.  He’d only ever told Jim this story.  But, Sarek doubted that he understood his situation and the Vulcan needed to know that he did understand.  McCoy still remembered Johanna’s face in death, still remembered the feel of her silky hair, still remembered the way she smelled like the cupcakes she loved so much.  He still remembered the horror he’d felt when he realized what someone had done to his precious little girl, and the uncontrollable rage that followed that realization.  “I found the woman who killed my daughter, and then I drowned her in her bathtub.”  He looked at Sarek finally.  His husband was looking at him with concerned sympathy and dawning understanding. 

Distantly, McCoy heard the turbolift arriving at the deck to Kirk’s quarters.  He stopped the turbolift just before they arrived.  He didn’t want this heard through the corridors.  “She was my wife.”  This clearly surprised Sarek.  “Jim saved my life when I was running from what I’d done.  He kept me from being shipped off to a prison planet, or execution.  I didn’t know it then, but Jim knew exactly what I felt and why I did it.  I owe him a lot.”  Even though his friend’s treatment of the Vulcan that was now his stepson made him sick, and McCoy disagreed with it completely, he feared what would become of him without Jim Kirk to defend him.  As Kirk had saved his life, McCoy knew he would do whatever he had to in order to save Jim’s life.  “Point is I do know what you’re going through, Sarek.  I killed the person who hurt my child.  But I’m asking you – I’m begging you – not to do what I did.  I won’t be able to protect you if you do.”

It took Sarek a long time to answer.  “I cannot make that promise.  But I will make every effort to avoid your actions in defense of my son.” 

McCoy said nothing as he led his husband to the Captain’s quarters, knowing that inside them Sarek’s boy was enduring Kirk’s attentions unwillingly.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He never had an expectation of arriving in an unmanned and open location on the target ship when Doctor Simon van Gelder ensured their beaming away from the Tantalus Penal Institution.  But here they were, beamed to a location very familiar to someone like Montgomery Scott.  He and his unlikely allies had transported right into the engineering section.  It was like coming home.

“We must conceal ourselves immediately, Mister Scott,” the old Vulcan said, breaking him from his joyous moment.  “And we must do so as quietly as possible.  I have no intention of being returned to that place.”

Scott followed the Vulcan, who was leading the silently awestruck Winona by the arm, around various pieces of equipment and machinery.  He allowed the Vulcan to lead them.  After all, it was because of his remarkably still sharp memory, mind, and hearing that they’d even made it away from Tantalus.  Scott was willing to use any advantage they may have in this unfamiliar place. “Where are we?” he whispered close to Spock.

Spock’s attention had been captivated by a small free-standing readout and control panel within walking distance.  “That is where our answers lie.”  The Vulcan tilted his head, listening closely to their surroundings.  “I will be suspicious, and I do not know Starfleet’s access codes.”  Spock looked to the wide-eyed blonde woman at his side.  “And she will not be of much use to us, I’m afraid.”  Even with that phrasing, Scott could see by the sympathy in Spock’s eyes that he did not mean them contemptuously.  He pitied Winona.  Perhaps from when or where he had come from she had not turned out the same way as this woman with them.  Spock looked at him.  “You are the one among us who has the most current knowledge of the Empire and any procedures.  It is only logical that you be the one to attempt to access that device and determine our whereabouts.”

Scott didn’t like the idea, but he had no argument for it.  He’d only been on Tantalus for less than one year.  Winona had been there for over two decades.  The Vulcan, Spock, came from the future, so protocols and procedures could be radically different in his mind.  He didn’t like it, but it made sense.  Firming his mouth determinedly, Scott nodded and stared at the panel.  He waited for Spock to give him the order to go to it.  For some reason, Scott knew that this Vulcan had been extremely influential in his time and had amassed considerable command authority.  Spock had the powerful presence about him that demanded respect and obedience.  He had clearly been accustomed to power and to having his orders followed.  Scott, to his own surprise, was perfectly willing to follow the Vulcan.  He seemed to know what he was doing, even in unfamiliar territory. 

As though he had done this before.

“Go,” Spock ordered, and Scott took off towards the panel.  Had he been wearing a uniform he would have traveled a bit more casually, but since he did not, he ran.  Time was of the essence, and they needed to know what they were up against here. 

He grabbed the sides of the panel, staring at it for only a second before realizing that it was a newer model.  He didn’t need more information than that to know what ship they’d beamed aboard.  Only one ship had been slated either for a refit or to be newly launched in the last year.  That ship was the _I.S.S. Enterprise_.  Scott did need to know if they had been detected and who currently commanded this ship. 

His fingers hit the touch-screen display furiously, sometimes pressing too hard in his urgency, but he barely felt it.  After several attempts he’d accessed the system.  It seemed that some of the members of command had not updated their access codes since his incarceration.  They had obviously underestimated – or forgotten – Montgomery Scott’s recalling abilities for number and letter sequences.  The possibility also existed that they were unaware that he’d stolen their codes to begin with.  It would be obvious soon, once someone on this ship realized that a code for an admiral, who was probably not even aboard, had been used to gain access to the system deep in main engineering. 

Before he went into the ship’s personnel listing, Scott went for the schematics of their location.  In seconds, he found it.  He took note of possible escape routes and any storage compartment or sealed cargo hold they might be able to utilize in order to hide.  There were two relatively close, but both would pose a risk to reach.  That couldn’t be helped. 

He swiped his sleeve across his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes.  He had one last thing to find out before he led their group to a cargo storage area.  He needed to know who captained this ship.  Its captain would determine whether or not they had transported into friendly or unfriendly territory.  Scott last heard that Captain Pike was to receive command of the Enterprise.  He stopped short before accessing the files, wondering suddenly what exactly Pike’s purpose had been at Tantalus.  Perhaps he had been given captaincy of this ship and preferred to personally go to Tantalus for whatever reason.  Scott glanced back at Spock.  Pike had delivered the Vulcan to Tantalus.  It would certainly explain the Enterprise’s presence in this area of space so close to Tantalus.  If Pike were captain, they had certainly landed in a very unsafe and unfriendly place.   He tapped the display to give him the readout of key personnel, and to his shock the listed captain was not Pike at all. 

It read ‘Kirk, James T.’

Scott smiled to himself.  They’d arrived in a very friendly place.  He and Kirk had been friends in the Academy.  Surely Kirk would, at the very least, listen to Scott before he had him escorted to the brig or, worse, back to Tantalus.  He knew he would never have had that small hope with Pike in command.  But with Kirk, a former friend, that possibility existed, even minimally.  He would take that risk gladly. 

He exited all of the programs he’d accessed and moved quickly back to the waiting Vulcan and Human.  Spock spoke before Scott could.  “There is movement.  We will be discovered shortly.  We must not be captured.”

Scott nodded.  “Follow me.  I found a storage bay we might be able to stay in for a wee bit.”  He didn’t wait for a reply as he led them away, trying to travel through the components, machinery, and busy crewmembers without detection.  They had to stop once or twice to wait for someone to pass their location before continuing.  They were close to one of the small storage areas, though more resembling a closet in terms of shape and size rather than a cargo compartment, when the flood lights blared active in the engineering bay. 

“It appears we have been detected,” Spock announced unnecessarily in Scott’s opinion. 

He glared at the Vulcan and then led them the rest of the way to the small storage space.  The access panel no longer worked with the admiral’s codes.  The crew Kirk worked with was apparently quicker than he’d anticipated.  Scott huffed to himself and tried to think of another’s access codes.  It became even more difficult to think as a loud voice boomed throughout all of engineering.  “An intruder has been detected in your area.  Clear all walkways for security.  Engage intruder only if visual contact is established.” 

Scott couldn’t think of a single code that he had memorized.  Not one.  “What the bloody hell was yours, Jim?” he asked aloud to himself in frustration. 

“Jim?” Spock asked, stepping forward with Winona.  “James T. Kirk?”

Scott whirled to face Spock.  “Aye, he’s captain,” he answered. 

Spock shoved him aside.  “Our luck has just improved.” 

Without hesitation, the Vulcan input a series of numbers and letters.  Scott saw from the screen flash that access was granted to Kirk, James T. and the door of the storage area slid open.  Spock knew the code when Scott did not.  “But how the hell do you—”

They all heard the footfalls of several people approaching.  “I will enlighten you another time, Mister Scott,” Spock said as he guided Winona through the door. 

Scott heard the men shouting now.  In moments they would all be apprehended.  “I’m holdin’ you to it, Vulcan,” he growled through clenched teeth.  Without caring that he may harm the older Vulcan, Scott charged him and threw his weight against the solid frame of the alien.  It had the intended effect and sent the older Vulcan into the storage closet with Winona.  Scott tapped the control that closed the door under Kirk’s command.  With another button, he made sure it would open again for none other than Kirk.  Either the two would die in there or Scott could hope to be interrogated by Kirk himself and lead him to them. 

He just barely managed to log out of Kirk’s codes as the security forces found him.  From out of their midst came a person he knew well, and for whom he had no fondness.  “You bastard,” he greeted Hikaru Sulu.

“Nice to see you, too,” Sulu sneered at him.  Scott’s temple exploded in pain from the man’s fist a second later. He dropped to the floor and fell unconscious as he heard Sulu inform someone, “Target captured.” 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Kirk put his communicator down on the shelf above the head of the bed.  He hadn’t expected Mitchell’s news about his father, but now that he’d heard it, Kirk looked forward to Pike’s return to the ship.  He doubted that Pike was injured, but McCoy would take care of that if needed.  He wanted to ask him how he’d managed to escape the Romulan ship.  Kirk suspected it would be an interesting story.  In two and a half hours he would find out.  As he stood from the bed, his eyes lingered on the closed door of the fresher.  Had Pike taken any prisoners during his escape?  If he had, would he consider such prisoners his prizes and keep them as his own like Kirk had done? 

He searched through his clothes until he found a pair of uniform trousers to wear.  He didn’t bother to fasten his dagger to his leg yet.  The day hadn’t even started, and he knew the Vulcan had no ambition to try anything against him especially after last night.  After ordering up a cup of coffee for himself, Kirk debated on what he should order for his captive.  He sipped his drink, swishing the bitter liquid in his mouth, wondering whether or not his Vulcan would want to drink it.  He’d made a fuss the first night when he gave him the chicken breast, claiming an inability to digest it.  Would the same thing happen with coffee?  Kirk frowned as he stared into his own drink.  He glanced back to the door of the fresher then came to a decision, cueing in a drink order less potent for his Vulcan. 

His gaze wandered to the rumpled covers of his bed and smiled to himself, thinking on his prize.  The Vulcan’s responsiveness pleased him earlier, despite his weak protestations as Kirk had him on top of him, rocking the Vulcan against his arousal.  He’d been reviewing his rules with him then, trying to keep the Vulcan talking, to keep him distracted long enough for him to be able to convince him physically – if not emotionally – to let Kirk take him again.  He would have succeeded, too, had it not been for Mitchell calling on the communicator.  Kirk licked his lips then sipped his coffee.  He’d gotten the Vulcan to remember that he was to obey and submit to Kirk’s orders and desires.  But Mitchell prevented Kirk from reminding his Vulcan of the last rule in his quarters that Kirk demanded be obeyed without question.  The words had been all but voiced when the communicator sounded, which were that the Vulcan would spread his legs for Kirk whenever he desired it. 

Yes, the Vulcan responded well to him.  The thought made Kirk smile into his coffee.  His gaze wandered to where he’d killed Ensign Lester.  From that dagger thrust onward, his Vulcan had been frightened, terrified even, of him.  Kirk found himself standing in just the place where Lester choked on her own voice and her own blood.  He didn’t want the Vulcan to be terrified of him like that.  Kirk placed the second drink down next to his communicator with a frustrated sigh.  He wanted the Vulcan to come to him freely, to want him and his attentions.  Kirk didn’t want the Vulcan’s terror.  He’d come to Kirk last night after Lester’s body had been removed from his quarters, and her blood removed from the deck.  But had the alien come to him out of desire or fear?  Kirk snorted to himself as he took a swig of his bitter coffee.  The answer was obvious.  The Vulcan was terrified of him, and Kirk realized he no longer wanted that. 

Kirk enjoyed his attempt to please him, though.  He wasn’t exactly fighting him anymore, which demonstrated to Kirk that the Vulcan had begun learning.  The original intention with Lester’s presence had been to show the Vulcan what Kirk liked in terms of physical pleasure.  Even though she never left these rooms alive, she’d done what Kirk had wanted.  The Vulcan had initiated oral sex with him.  He still needed practice but the potential was there.  That he’d done it without Kirk ordering him marked a gigantic leap in the Vulcan’s progress.  Kirk liked the breathy little moans his prize made with him, those surrendering whimpers he tried – and failed – to contain, the way he squirmed when he pinned him down, and the way he trembled in his arms.  Kirk shakily exhaled, willing down his own excitement at the direction his thoughts had wandered, and took another long sip from his coffee to distract himself. 

The door to the fresher opened, abruptly pulling Kirk from his fantasy and drawing his attention to the very object of that fantasy.  His prize seemed completely unaware of his own nudity as he stood in the doorway.  Kirk stared, eyeing him crown to feet and back to his dark eyes, then wet his lips.  He turned away from his Vulcan and picked up the still steaming cup. 

“Who is the captain of this vessel?”

The question caught Kirk off guard.  He schooled his expression into one of confidence before he turned to face his Vulcan.  When he did, he went to him and offered the hot cup.  “Do you drink tea?” 

Kirk received a heated stare for his kindness.  “Who is the captain of this vessel?” the Vulcan asked again, with a hard edge in his voice. 

Kirk met the stare, refusing to answer until his own question received a response.  He looked pointedly at the cup in his hand, and then back into the alien’s brown eyes.  He accepted the tea with a sigh.  That settled, Kirk replied.  “I am.”  He ran his finger down his captive’s pale cheek.  The action earned him another hard stare.  “Don’t pretend that you don’t know that, little one,” he purred.  Kirk smiled when the Vulcan shivered, but it vanished in an instant when he realized that it sprang from being cold rather than any sort of fear.  He grabbed his upper arm and led him back to the bed.  Kirk wanted to tell the Vulcan to wrap himself in the blankets to get warm, but he knew that to say so would be a mistake.  The Vulcan could misinterpret it as compassion or caring, and then seek to exploit it.  So Kirk said nothing. 

The Vulcan sat on the bed gracefully, cradling the hot cup of tea in his hands as though it were his only heat source on a frozen planet’s surface.  Tentatively, the alien took a small sip, letting the liquid sit in his mouth to absorb the flavor, before finally swallowing.  When he spoke, he directed his voice into his tea.  “Who is Captain Pike?”

Another question that caught Kirk off guard.  He hid his surprise by casually leaning against the wall near the head of the bed.  “He was the captain of this ship before I had command.”

“And now he is returning to this ship?” Spock asked, but in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

Kirk knew why and he grew angry at himself for letting his caution slip with this Vulcan.  “You listened to me as I discussed ship’s business.”  He sipped his coffee, hoping it would disguise his slight embarrassment.  His actions were at fault, not the Vulcan’s. 

Spock glared at him over the rim of his cup.  “When you speak of such things in my presence, and you do not take any actions that would either send me away or otherwise ensure your privacy, you do nothing to prevent me from listening to your ship’s business.”  He lowered the cup without taking another sip of tea.  “And at the time, you were keeping me where you wished me to be.” 

“A captain takes what he wants,” he reminded Spock.  Kirk knew the Vulcan referred to their position earlier, where he had forced Spock to rock against his hardened cock astride him.  If Mitchell hadn’t commed him, Spock would have found himself impaled in moments.  But Mitchell had called, and Spock had listened to at least the beginning of their discussion.  “You’re very bold, little one,” Kirk admonished, though unable to disguise the fact that, while he disapproved of his bedwarmers speaking confidently and pointing out his mistakes to his face, Spock’s nerve impressed him.  It had impressed him when the Vulcan had thrown Sybok’s words back at him in the meeting.  He could admit that it impressed him, even if he did not necessarily like it.  Kirk looked down at the dark liquid, thinking of what he could say to change the path of their discussion.  He had no desire to fight with his Vulcan – not this early.  He smiled as he imagined Spock atop of him, truly riding him. 

No reply to his quiet warning came, but Kirk heard a soft rustling that made him look to the nude alien on his bed.  Spock shivered as he tried to situate some of the thick blankets around his body while trying not to spill his tea in his efforts.  “You weren’t exactly trying to escape at the time,” he pointed out. 

As soon as Kirk said the words, Spock’s entire demeanor shifted.  He abandoned struggling with covering himself, hung his head and stared miserably into his cooling tea.  “Where would I escape to, Captain?” he whispered despairingly.  “Any attempt to do so would be futile.  Why should I waste my effort on something that could never be?  I would only be brought back to you either to be hurt or killed at your pleasure.  Why would I invite worse treatment by attempting to escape a place from which there is none?”  There was something in the way that the Vulcan said those words that made Kirk pause.  He hadn’t realized that he liked Spock’s fire until it had been completely extinguished.  He watched silently as Spock resignedly placed his cup on the shelf, then lay on the bed and slowly pulled the covers over his body.  Kirk didn’t understand why the Vulcan’s resignation, this demonstration of defeat, of brokenness, disappointed him like it did.  Spock no longer wanted to fight him.  Had his murder of Janice Lester traumatized him so much that it completely doused that intoxicating spark in the Vulcan?  Would reigniting it cause even more damage?  Would it make things worse?  For a reason he couldn’t explain, Kirk wanted to offer some sort of comfort to Spock, but he had no idea what he could or should do.  Would the Vulcan even accept anything from him?  Would this completely empty and spiritless being be Kirk’s bedwarmer from this point forward? 

Kirk shook his head at his own thoughts.  No.  He could not accept that.  He liked his whores obedient and cooperative, but he liked them to resist him just a little.  Marlena had always excelled with that.  She’d kept his aggression fueled.  She’d never made him feel ashamed of breaking her, being rough with her, and demanding pleasure from her.   This Vulcan did.  He could not accept that.  He looked at Spock and saw him shivering violently in his bed.  Kirk buried his guilt and approached the bed.  “Are you still cold?” he asked, hoping his voice did not betray the conflicting emotions he felt about the alien. 

Spock did not speak, but the way in which he wrapped his arms around himself and turned away from him proved an adequate response for Kirk. 

If Spock thought refusing to answer him would discourage Kirk from approaching him further, then he was wrong.  Kirk angrily removed the clothing he wore, yanked the covers up enough to give himself room to slip into the bed with the Vulcan, and then he roughly pulled Spock into his firm hold.  The Vulcan’s body tensed as soon as Kirk’s weight joined his on the bed.  Tension turned to rigidity by the time Kirk had him in his arms.  Spock barely breathed as he lay trapped in Kirk’s grip.  Kirk wanted to speak, wanted to say something to him to end this tense silence, but he couldn’t think of anything. 

If speaking would do nothing to break down this Vulcan’s stubborn hold on his passivity, then perhaps Kirk’s touch would prove more successful.  He loosened his tight hold on the Vulcan, testing his reaction as he slowly released him.  The tension did not abate.  At least it didn’t abate at first.  Kirk slowly, gently ran his palm along the chilled skin of Spock’s side.  He pressed closer to him, bringing his entire front up against Spock’s back.  “This will get you warm,” he whispered against a pale shoulder before pressing his lips to the skin there.  Spock shivered, but Kirk wasn’t sure if it was due to the cold or his kiss. 

“I do not believe that is your goal,” the Vulcan countered stubbornly. 

Kirk smiled into the Vulcan’s shoulderblade while he continued his leisurely exploration of his captive’s side with his hand, settling on his hip and stroking the skin there with his thumb.  “One of them, little one.”  He followed his confirmation by kissing the juncture of his Vulcan’s neck and shoulder, eliciting a barely audible gasp.  Even that tiny sound coming from his prize excited him.  He pressed his body even closer to Spock. 

“What sort of man is Captain Pike?” 

The question jarred Kirk from the intimacy he’d been building between them.  Mentioning Pike immediately halted Kirk’s desire for the Vulcan in his arms.  The relaxation between them had also vanished with Spock’s ill-timed question, leaving the both of them bodily tense and emotionally charged.  Maybe he could regain the progress he’d made, and convince Spock to cooperate with him if he simply answered the question.  “He’s the only father I’ve ever known.”  His own honesty surprised him.  However, that information wasn’t exactly a secret within the Terran Empire.  His captive would surely come to that information at some point anyway.  Kirk would rather it come from him than someone else.  “He raised me since I was a teenager.” 

Kirk didn’t think it possible, but Spock’s tension grew.  He didn’t understand.  He hadn’t done or said anything that should have gotten that response from his Vulcan.  Kirk tried to distract him and resumed touching the Vulcan, gently sliding his hand along his skin from upper arm to wrist, hoping it would coax his bedwarmer into welcoming his touch and to calm him down.  Sex was always worse for his playthings when they weren’t relaxed as he entered them.  That he wanted Spock relaxed so that he would avoid hurting him came as a surprising realization for Kirk.  He intended to keep that knowledge to himself. 

“What will occur upon his return?”  Apparently, Spock believed this important.  Kirk wanted him to focus on this moment, on the two of them in his bed, on pleasing him as a good bedwarmer should.  Spock’s next question brought Kirk out of his musing on how his Vulcan should behave with him.  “Will Captain Pike resume command then?”

It was an innocent question from Spock’s perspective, but that simple question made Kirk hesitate.  Would Pike take command again when he arrived in a few hours?  He didn’t think his father would do that to him.  Yet the doubt remained from Spock’s innocent question.  What if Pike did reclaim captaincy of the ship?  Kirk would lose all of his authority.  Officers in the Empire did not tolerate being demoted once they had stepped up in rank.  All of the officers that Kirk had advanced would seek retribution if Pike permitted Kirk to keep the position of first officer if he regained command.  Gary Mitchell would not accept being usurped by Kirk in his newly acquired first officer position.  That would make both Pike and Kirk a target for Mitchell.    

And Spock.  His Vulcan bedwarmer would become a target too for any angry or ambitious officer.  Kirk gripped Spock’s hipbone possessively.  He didn’t want this Vulcan threatened.  He wouldn’t stand for that.  “A captain takes what he wants,” Spock reminded him.  “You said that.”  Kirk would have to keep Spock here forever, not permit him to leave these rooms, to avoid making him a target.  But he knew that every officer who knew Kirk kept a Vulcan within his quarters would make their way there and try to kill his pet anyway.  Spock shook in his grasp like he knew what he’d been thinking.  “Does that phrase apply to anything a captain wants?  To everything?”  Kirk’s body became rigid.  The idea that his father would reclaim command became a more likely possibility with each additional question the Vulcan asked.  How far down the ranks would Pike kick him?  How vulnerable would Kirk become?  When he realized his own panicked thoughts were making his hands shake with nerves, he released Spock’s body. 

The Vulcan used that freedom to turn around to face Kirk, his frightened brown eyes desperately seeking reassurance in those of his captor.  “What happens then to my people?” 

Kirk swallowed, trying to mask his own fear, but knowing he probably failed in that.  “They’ll be safe,” he lied.  He knew that if Pike were to retake captaincy, none of the captive Vulcans would be safe.  But he didn’t want Spock to know that, not yet.

Spock did not believe him.  “You do not know that for certain.” 

Kirk recognized it as a statement, not a question.  He couldn’t protect Spock from that truth.  It risked too much to conceal it.  “No, I don’t,” he admitted.

“And my family, my father?”

Kirk saw Spock’s eyes grow wet with frightened tears.  “We made a deal,” he tried to reassure Spock, hoping the Vulcan wouldn’t notice the evasion of his question. 

“And if the captain does not see any merit to that arrangement?” Spock prompted him.  “What then?”  He noted with growing unease that Spock had used the term ‘captain’ instead of the word ‘you’ in his question.  That his Vulcan already imagined his demotion from captaincy as the only reality possible greatly disturbed Kirk.  He turned his gaze to his captive’s trembling hands.  “If Captain Pike should take command from you—”

“He won’t,” Kirk interrupted, watching as the Vulcan’s slender fingers curled into fists as he tried to hide their trembling. 

“If Captain Pike should take command from you,” Spock repeated resolutely, “how could you stop him from undoing everything that you have established?  How could you stop him from harming my people, my family, or me?”

Kirk shook his head.  He enclosed his bedmate’s fists with his hands and looked into Spock’s frightened eyes.  “He won’t have you.”  Kirk traced the slant of the Vulcan’s eyebrow with his eyes as he lessened the gap between their bodies.  “He can’t have you.”   That gap disappeared as Kirk crashed their lips together, Spock’s surprised cry muffled by their kiss.    “You’re mine,” Kirk whispered vehemently against his Vulcan’s lips.  “No one will take you from me.”

“You could not prevent it.”  Spock sighed in frustration.  “If he wishes me away from you, I do not doubt that he would see it done.  As captain he could easily do that.”

“And a captain takes what he wants.”  Kirk released his hands and took Spock in his arms, feeling the violent, terrified shaking of the Vulcan against his skin. 

“Yes, he does,” Spock agreed. 

Kirk could never tell this Vulcan that he also feared Pike’s return.  After the very innocently asked questions from Spock, Kirk realized the fragility of his command.  Had Pike only meant it to be temporary?  Was he not supposed to promote anyone to fill the vacancies?  He may have made a mistake in doing so, a mistake that could potentially lead to his ruin.  If Pike took command from him, where would that leave him?  Then, the only answer came to him.  It was what Spock had been trying to tell him all along.  Kirk had simply chosen not to hear it. 

He would have to kill Christopher Pike. 

Could he kill the man that raised him?  The man who took him in after the hell he’d endured?  The man that protected him and guided him into the strong, commanding person he’d become.  Kirk felt himself begin to panic.  How dare this Vulcan, his captive, suggest that he murder his own father – the only father he’d ever known?  Who did this little whore think he was?  Kirk growled viciously as he grabbed Spock’s shoulder and forced him down onto his front.  He’d been too lenient with Spock.  He needed to remind him of his place here.  Beneath him in every way.

“No!” Spock cried, trying to push up and away from the bed. 

 “Right now I’m still the fucking captain of this ship.”  Kirk hissed as he climbed onto Spock’s prone figure.  He paused long enough to spit into his hand.  He brought it down quickly and, without warning, thrust one of his fingers into his bedwarmer’s tight body, ignoring the pained cry his action produced from Spock.  He planted his other hand in the middle of the pale spine to keep him still.  It would go easier if his Vulcan simply accepted this, accepted his place, his position, and Kirk’s authority over him.  “And I’m taking what I want,” Kirk told his captive as he added a second finger into his tight body.  Spock struggled beneath him, squirming desperately, but whether his goal was to dislodge the hand pinning him down or to pull away from the two fingers Kirk had buried inside of him wasn’t quite clear.  Kirk knew he would soon need the use of the hand with which he’d anchored the Vulcan on the bed.  As soon as he let Spock go, he knew his captive would fight him again.  He couldn’t have that.  Kirk draped himself over Spock’s back, making him take his weight on his slender body to keep Spock immobile and to give himself the opportunity to use his now freed hand.  “And I want you,” he reminded his Vulcan.  While continuing to stretch the entrance of the Vulcan trembling under him, he used the time to slick himself enough with his spit.  He took his length in hand and blindly positioned himself as he withdrew his fingers from the Vulcan.  “You’re mine, Spock,” he promised as he breached his bedmate’s body. 

Cries of pain and pleasure mingled in the otherwise silent room.  Kirk did not pause to allow his Vulcan to get accustomed to his cock inside him.  He grabbed Spock’s hip with one hand, while he rose up enough to plant his other hand firmly on the Vulcan’s shoulder blade, giving him the leverage and the resistance enough to thrust hard and fast into the cooler body of his captive.  “Please, James,” Spock gasped through his aborted sobs.  “No!  Please.  Sanu, James.”  The Vulcan had slipped into his native language.  “Sanu, pehkau, khart-lan.  Kroykah, sanu.” 

  _“Is it only my brother that you have defiled or have you taken other children to your bed?”_

Kirk flinched as the voice of his Vulcan’s brother haunted him, his rhythm faltering only for a moment before he pulled Spock’s hips up, changing the angle in which he took him.  He had both hands on the Vulcan’s hipbones.  Spock shakily pushed himself up to support his upper body with his hands.  No sooner did Spock settle himself in this way that Kirk let go of his hips, took his shoulders in a harsh grip and pushed Spock’s chest back down to the bed.  Kirk was in command here, on this ship, and in this room.  The young Vulcan apparently still did not understand that concept.  It was time he learned it. 

 _“You cannot tell me you were unaware!”_ Kirk shook his head, trying to banish the condescending Vulcan from his mind.  Even as he succeeded, another memory came to the forefront of his thoughts. 

_“He’s a child?” he asked Sarek, his Vulcan’s father._

_“Yes, until his first pon farr, but that is irrelevant since you have already used my son.”_  

He’d been a child once, too, though it seemed so long ago.  Kirk had been forced to shed the naiveté of childhood as he stood among the ranks of the Governor’s Guards, Junior Division, as he kept his attention on the man who stood at the podium before all eight-thousand colonists. 

_“Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society.  Your lives means slow death to the more valued members of the colony.  Therefore I, Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV, have no alterantive but to sentence you to death.  Your execution is so ordered.”_

Kirk remembered the words in his nightmares, in his dreams, in his waking consciousness. _Immediately after that announcement, the Senior and Junior Governor’s Guards began to sort the colonists as they had been instructed before Kodos had made his unexpected announcement.  He’d thought the decision to execute half of the colonists to ensure the other half’s survival to be a good plan.  The Governor had everything under control – the weak, the sick, and the elderly would all be put to death.  They didn’t have enough resources to keep them all alive.  The strongest would survive.  Kirk didn’t realize that children were included in Governor Kodos’s definition of the weak until he saw a young boy of Russian descent that Kirk had welcomed to Tarsus IV get separated into the group slated for execution._

_“Papa!’_

_The mother had been beaten by the Guards, and the father had tried to protect her.  He’d been taken down by phaser fire immediately.  The boy had tried to run to his mother.  But he couldn’t have done anything.  He was such a tiny child, around five years old.  In that moment, knowing a boy he knew would be killed if he didn’t act, thirteen-year-old James Tiberius van Gelder made a decision.  He couldn’t stand by and watch children he knew be gunned down._

_He scooped the boy up in his arms and carried him away. “I got you,” he tried to shout over the screams, the beating, the phasers.  “I got you.”  He still could hear the phasers silencing the colonists who resisted the separations, could still hear the horrified screams as people watched their loved ones die beside them.  But he’d run, somehow got out of that enclosed square with the tiny Pavel Andreivich Chekov in his arms.  He’d shoved him out of sight just outside of the complex’s walls, and then he went back into the destruction that Governor Kodos had endorsed.  He’d gotten thirteen other kids out._

_The fourteenth, a teenaged girl, had been hit with phaser fire.  A Guard near them – one he’d taken down the hard way, with his fists and his anger so he could have a phaser with a kill setting – slashed his leg with a knife.  It was the last thing the Guard did before his own phaser killed him.  But he couldn’t walk easily, and he certainly couldn’t run.  If he couldn’t do any more for those he’d saved from execution, he had to make sure one of those thirteen would do what he could not at that moment._

_“Get out of here, Tom!” he’d shouted at the oldest of the kids he’d rescued, a boy named Thomas Leighton.  “Get them out!  Go!”  He watched as Tom picked up one of the small children then snapped a harsh command to the other older kids to pick up the youngest among them._

_“I’ll come back for you, J.”_

_He waved Tom away harshly.  “I’ll find you soon, just go!”  Tom nodded, then turned and led the kids away from the phaser fire, the horrified screams, and the death of the main complex of the colony they’d called home.  With what little remained of his energy, his adrenaline fading, he tossed the phaser he’d used to kill the Guard just out of his own reach.  When he was questioned about a group of kids that had been seen running toward the wilderness past the edge of the colony’s settlement, James Tiberius van Gelder lied to Governor Kodos._

Kirk opened his eyes with a harsh gasp.  He recalled it as clearly as though he’d just lived through it all over again.  He wanted to forget it, but he knew he never could.  He never would.  The horror of Tarsus IV had plucked him from childhood and forced him to grow up, to adapt, and to survive in a way that no thirteen-year-old should have endured. 

He picked up his pace and the force of his thrusts, barely hearing the pained cries of the Vulcan beneath him.  He couldn’t ever forget what had happened to him on Tarsus IV, but sometimes he could bury the memory of it.  _When his cheek exploded in pain from Kodos’s fist and he fell to the polished floor, he still managed to glare at him.  He even spit the blood in his mouth at the Governor’s feet. He only knew pain for the next two days after that.  He’d been held down by the older man those two days._

Kirk anchored his hands on his Vulcan’s shoulders, holding him down, fucking into him rougher than before.   _No matter what Kodos did to him, no matter how many times it happened, he didn’t break, he didn’t betray his kids.  But he did cry._ He saw the tears escape Spock’s eyes. _And he did scream._ Spock screamed as he continued pounding into the Vulcan.  Kirk clenched his eyes, thrust once and remained deep inside the Vulcan’s body.  He couldn’t escape this time.  “Stop!” Kirk bellowed.   

That single word had the effect of a phaser.  Spock froze where he lay pinned down by Kirk’s hands on his shoulders.  He didn’t move, his eyes stared vacantly to the right, and his tears steadily wet his skin and the sheets beneath him.   Kirk looked at Spock, truly looked at the terrified and abused Vulcan under him.  His bedwarmer tried not to breathe.  Kirk knew that it would only be a sob if he did.  He reached out to brush back Spock’s hair from his forehead, not missing the involuntary flinch his action elicited from his prize.  Spock’s mouth parted as though he were about to speak, but a second later he pressed his lips together to silence himself.  Kirk looked to the Vulcan’s hands and saw that both of them clutching the sheets so tightly his skin had lost all color. 

Spock was in so much pain, and he had caused it.  Kirk closed his eyes, not wanting to look at a mirror of his past.  He knew that pain.  Seeing it all over again in this Vulcan, his beautiful captive, made him remember that pain all over again.  That helplessness, that desperation, and the strange contradicting wishes to survive it, yet also wondering if it would simply be better to die.  Spock was much older than when Kirk had suffered this.  He’d been thirteen years old.  He realized that age didn’t matter anymore.  Not when he felt Spock’s trembling body against him.  Having endured this in his life, Kirk could almost feel Spock’s pain like it were his own, haunting him through his past, through time, and making him hesitate in that moment.  It didn’t matter that he had been thirteen that first time and Spock almost twice that age when they’d known this intimate agony.  This unbearable pain. 

  _“Scream for me,” he still heard Kodos in his nightmares.  He had been brutal, merciless, relentless._

In his mind, Kodos’s sadistic sneer shifted into the pleased smirk of a woman he would never see alive again.  Kirk’s arms shook and he aborted his own gasp to preserve the silence of his quarters.  _Her red lips smiled mischievously at him as she secured the restraint.  “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded of her.  An index finger the color of emerald green pressed against his scowling mouth._

_“I’ve let you do whatever you wanted for a while,” she purred, running her other hand seductively down his chest.  He looked into her hypnotizing eyes, showing her how much he wanted to throw her down and fuck her hard.  If it weren’t for these restraints, he would easily have done that.  “I wanted to see how much work I had to do.”  She took his length in a tight grip with her hand unexpectedly.  It surprised a groan out of him.  “You like to rut away like a beast, the rougher the better, it seems,” she continued, stroking him hard and rough until it bordered on pain.  “But you’re not a beast, yet you know nothing about pleasure.”_

_She leaned over him, her lips just a breath from his.  He craned his neck to try to reach her but she stayed just out of reach.  He flexed against his restraints that she’d cuffed him in – a subtle announcement that, for the first time between them, Gaila was the one with the power.  “Now, pay attention,” she ordered him.  He found it difficult to do as she slicked his erection for her use.  He recognized that this wouldn’t even be about his use, but she would be using him.  He never thought he would ever be accepting of such a situation again.  “If you move, if you try anything, I’ll stop and leave you here like this until you couldn’t take it anymore.”  With the way she expertly used her Orion pheromones against him, he knew she could easily drive him insane with lust.  “So, behave, Jim,” she whispered, as she settled herself astride him.  “Sex is about power, yes.”  Gaila positioned him at her wet folds, allowing just the tip of his aching erection to touch her.  He groaned but did not move.  “You’ve only known that power as it would be used to humiliate, to torture someone, to expose their weaknesses.”  She shifted so that her warm, wet flesh ran along the head of his organ.  “I’m not going to humiliate you.  In truth, I want you to know the greatest power you can have over someone.”  Gaila leaned forward, and held her lips over his but completely ignored his mouth seeking hers.  Instead, she brought her mouth to the side and whispered in his ear, “Torturous pleasure.”_

_They’d known each other’s bodies many times, but as Gaila guided Kirk into her that night, she did so with the goal of showing him that sex could be so much more than weaknesses, humiliation, and pain._

Once he’d lost Gaila he’d fallen back into that older pattern, but with a different approach.  He’d lost his sadism, his glee, in his bedwarmers’ pain when he made sure that they at the very least responded physically to him.  In the best encounters, Kirk had been able to bring his prey to climax before his own.  Those had always been his favorites.  The ones that he could not coax to ecstacy were the ones he never fucked again.  He’d had many, countless under him, male and female, and of varying species.  With the exception of Gaila, Marlena had pleased him more than any other.  She could keep up with him whether he was angry and needed to take that aggravation out through rough and hard sex, or if he simply needed to escape through something less harsh and much more pleasurable.  After Gaila, Kirk preferred to experience pleasure – both his own and his bedwarmer’s – than another’s pain in his dominance over them.

As he looked down at Spock, at the silent, crying, and shaking Vulcan he had pinned beneath him, Kirk realized that he’d forgotten that.  As soon as he’d seen Spock, Kirk had wanted him.  He still wanted him, more than he’d even wanted Gaila.  But he didn’t want Spock when he was this frightened of him, this petrified of what he would do to him.  When Kirk had been with Gaila, he’d been able to escape the horrors of his past, the agony of his memories, and he'd done that by the pleasure she’d given him.  Spock had been untouched when he’d taken him, and Kirk had shown him fear and pain.  Kirk lowered his head, clenching his eyes, and tried not to voice the turmoil he experienced at the realization that he missed Gaila.  Kirk missed what she’d taught him, what she’d given him.  He missed her openness, her gentleness, and her tenderness.  He’d lost Gaila forever, but he still desired to have that connection again. 

Kirk opened his eyes and studied his Vulcan.  He’d been the Vulcan’s first experience with intimacy, and it had been filled with pain and fear.  Long ago, Kirk had been in his position.  He knew precisely what Spock was feeling.  If he wanted to be the only one to touch this Vulcan like this, Kirk realized that he would have to change the way he treated his captive in order for Spock to respond positively to him.  He would have to pass on what Gaila had taught him in their time together.  Kirk would have to teach this Vulcan what pleasure meant between two people.  The challenge would be to do that and yet manage to keep Spock obedient to him.  Marlena had remained obedient.  Perhaps Spock would too when he understood that Kirk would be good to him and that others on this ship would certainly not be kind. 

“Spock,” he whispered, relaxing the pressure on the Vulcan’s shoulders.  If he wanted to, Spock could twist away from him.  But he clearly was still too frightened to move.  “Are you okay?”  Spock’s reply was silence.  Kirk ran his fingertip along Spock’s eyebrow, and then trailed his hand softly through the short, silken strands of the Vulcan’s hair.  At Spock’s flinch something lurched in Kirk’s chest.  “Say something.”

The reply took a long time.  “What do you wish me to say?”

“I want you to answer me,” Kirk elaborated.  “Are you okay?”

His tears hadn’t stopped.  “I do not know,” he admitted softly. 

Kirk realized what he had to do, how he had to begin.  Slowly he pulled out of the Vulcan, not missing the strangled groan that escaped Spock’s throat as he did so.  The very first time he had taken him he had been rough with Spock.  By the end of it, Kirk realized that he’d torn him inside.  The Vulcan’s green blood had been on his cock when he’d pulled away.  This time there was no green blood on him.  Kirk sighed in relief that even as he’d been haunted by his past, and it drove him to take the Vulcan hard, he had not damaged him that he could see. 

He coated his fingers with his own spit and brought his hand down to Spock’s entrance.  From their recent activity, the Vulcan was already well-stretched and allowed Kirk to slide his fingers into him easily.  Kirk still heard the tiny gasp this produced from his bedwarmer.  He studied him carefully as he felt along the Vulcan’s inner walls for injury, gauging his reaction.  Not intending to pin him down, but to keep him from moving in a way that might bring injury to himself, Kirk pressed his free hand flat against the small of Spock’s back.  Occasionally, he rubbed his skin with his thumb.  He knew the Vulcan liked that kind of repetitive movement with Kirk’s hands.  Perhaps he found it soothing.  Kirk didn’t actually know.  He just knew that Spock relaxed when he did something like that.  And Kirk wanted Spock to relax, especially since Kirk wanted to enter him again, to finish fucking him until he came inside the Vulcan.  For that, and to make sure it was satisfying for them both, Kirk needed Spock to be calm. 

He leaned over Spock and kissed his spine, letting his lips linger just above the Vulcan’s skin before kissing him again.  Kirk continued his movements inside Spock with his fingers, slowly withdrawing and pushing in a rhythm completely opposite to the harsh pounding he’d forced this creature to endure only minutes ago.  He mapped Spock’s back with his lips, kissing each vertebra and sliding his free hand along the Vulcan’s side as he climbed higher towards his captive’s neck.  He paused for a moment as he felt Spock shake beneath him.  The streaks his tears had left on his skin were finally beginning to dry.  His eyes were closed, though not as though he were in pain.  Spock looked confused, conflicted.  Kirk smiled to himself as he continued to make his way up the Vulcan’s back. 

Soon enough his progress prevented him from comfortably maintaining his exploration of his bedwarmer’s entrance and he had to withdraw fully from him.  The sound Spock made could have been one of longing or one of discomfort, but he didn’t want to assume either.  He traced Spock’s other side with his now freed hand until both of his hands were even at the Vulcan’s heaving ribcage.  He shifted his weight and used his legs to further spread Spock open for him.  He would be inside him again shortly.  As soon as Spock realized his goal, his body tightened with tension, undoing his efforts.  “Relax,” he whispered.  He sighed against the Vulcan’s neck.  “Relax,” he repeated, then kissed him just behind his pointed ear, coaxing a shiver from the slender body under him. 

With deliberate slowness, Kirk ran his hands from Spock’s shoulders to his wrists, and captured them for a moment with a barely restraining force.  Spock gasped and shifted his body, trying to buck Kirk off of him.  Kirk moved with him, refusing to be thrown from his mount.  The instant that Spock stopped, Kirk loosened his grip on his wrists and instead captured the Vulcan’s hands and pressed them into the bed.  Spock moaned helplessly.  The sound made Kirk smile.  He remembered that Spock had enjoyed it when Kirk had intertwined their fingers, and when he’d stroked his finger along the Vulcan’s hands.  Apparently, this was one of the Vulcan’s weaknesses, perhaps even an erogenous zone for him.  Kirk planned to use it to his advantage.  He tightened his hold on the hand he’d encased, and smiled when Spock moaned louder.  Kirk leaned into him and swept his tongue along the back curve of Spock’s ear until he reached the delicate point, which he flicked with the tip of his tongue.  Spock shivered beneath him, and futilely tried to stop his breathless moan.  Kirk’s smile grew as Spock’s responsiveness increased helplessly under his attentions. 

Within minutes he’d reduced his terrified, reluctant, and stubborn captive into a squirming, cooperative, and temptingly sinful bedwarmer.  He kept Spock distracted by devoting most of his attention to Spock’s hands and neck while he managed to slick his length anew.  The next time Spock moaned, Kirk pushed inside.  Spock pushed against him at first, but once Kirk established a calmer, much steadier rhythm with his thrusts, the Vulcan didn’t fight as much.  The Vulcan did not grow as tense as before, but he did not refuse him either.  Kirk rose up, pressed his weight forward into the Vulcan’s hands, and rocked deeply into his prize.  His pace was even, deep, and hard, but it was not fast or punishing to the Vulcan.  He groaned aloud when Spock shifted his weight forward, giving him some resistance.  His next thrust earned him a long, high moan. 

Then, his communicator sounded.  “McCoy to Captain.”  Kirk’s rhythm was disrupted and his Vulcan’s awareness jarred back to reality.  Kirk huffed in frustration and thrust hard into Spock, forcing a surprised grunt out of the smaller male.  In no time, he regained the pace he’d lost and got his Vulcan making those delightful sounds again.  “McCoy to Captain.” 

The only way he would get Bones to leave him alone would be to talk to him.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t angry that he’d been interrupted in the first place.  “No, please,” Spock begged through Kirk’s thrusts as he saw the human reaching for the communicator.  “Do not.  My father may be with him.”

“It’s not like your father doesn’t know I’m fucking you,” Kirk growled.  “But if you don’t want him to know it’s happening right now, you’d better not make a sound.”  He opened his end of the channel.  “Kirk here.  What do you want, Bones?”  He didn’t stop moving inside his Vulcan, didn’t slow his pace, and didn’t hold back his own pleasure.  He knew that Bones, if he were listening closely, would hear what he was doing.  He didn’t care.  Bones knew the reason why he’d wanted Spock, so it shouldn’t surprise him to hear Kirk taking him. 

“I need to talk to you about the transfers going to the Romulans,” McCoy said.

Spock, voluntarily or not, somehow managed to tighten his inner muscles as he pumped into him, surprising Kirk and causing him to groan uninhibitedly.  McCoy couldn’t be implying that he wanted to come to his quarters and interrupt him.  Not when he finally had the Vulcan responding to him.  Kirk frowned at the idea and let McCoy understand how little he appreciated his comming him at that moment by testily snapping, “Can it wait?  I’m a little busy right now.”  Spock gasped sharply at his next hard thrust, failing to silence himself into the pillow quickly enough.  Kirk drove forward again, smiling when Spock whimpered that time.  Kirk ran his fingers through the silky black hair like he would to a favorite pet.  “Shh, little one, shh.”  He turned his attention back to the communicator.  His breaths turned labored as he began to pick up his pace with the Vulcan.  “Fine, come to my quarters.  Might be a few minutes, though.  We’re still busy.  Kirk out.” 

He meant to close his end of the comms channel then, but when he reached to do that, Spock pushed back into his thrust, sending him off-balance and onto his side, but it did nothing to break their intimate connection.  Kirk softly groaned in excitement as he quickly pulled Spock’s leg up and over his own, opening the Vulcan to him wide.  Then, he grabbed Spock’s hip with one hand, and snaked his other arm underneath the Vulcan to hold him securely against his chest.  He quickly resumed his faster pace, the wet sound of their flesh colliding clearly audible in his quarters, and the now frequent and soft moans of the Vulcan in his arms spurring him harder and faster and deeper.  Suddenly remembering his open channel, Kirk let go of Spock’s hipbone long enough to smack the device and sever the comms connection.  Then, he brought his hand back to Spock’s side and helped him move into his thrusts, pulling him onto his length firmly with each push he gave. 

Kirk’s arm around Spock didn’t allow him the use of his right arm or hand at all, but the Vulcan’s left hand was free.  At first, Spock simply placed it over Kirk’s hand on his chest and held on tightly while Kirk continued moving harshly against and inside him.  Soon enough, the Vulcan shifted, reaching behind him.  Kirk watched him closely ready to snatch that wandering hand and immobilize it if he thought to knock him out again with that pinch to his neck.  But Spock’s aim was higher than the juncture of Kirk’s neck and shoulder.  His goal was Kirk’s hair.  Kirk groaned in pleasure when Spock tangled his fingers in his hair and then pulled his head forward.  Kirk went willingly and attacked his Vulcan’s neck with his lips, worshipping the skin there eagerly, sucking the racing pulse hungrily, and breathing heavily against the moisture his passion left behind.  “Oh, Spock,” he moaned against the bruises beginning to blossom on his bedmate’s neck.  “Fuck, I—”  His hips shuddered as he felt his peak approaching fast.  “Gonna, oh, come on, little one.  Come for me.”  He frantically trailed kisses up Spock’s neck until his lips found the earlobe.    Kirk nipped at it heatedly, and then dragged his teeth up Spock’s ear and to the point. “Come with me.”  Perhaps teasing the tip would send his prize over that precipice with him.  As soon as he took that point gently between his teeth, Kirk had his answer. 

Spock trembled in his arms and, with a surrendering moan, fell with him. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

Seeing two additional guards standing watch outside the captain’s quarters did not comfort Sarek, even if they were Romulan.  Romulans possessed Vulcan ancestry, and most likely similar capabilities.  Perhaps that was all they had in common.  A Romulan had been responsible for the destruction of the Vulcan homeworld.  It would not be unreasonable to think that Sybok’s commander had placed these two warriors here to slowly finish the eradication of the Vulcan people.  He shook his head to himself as he and his new husband approached the doors.  That kind of thinking was unwarranted.  Neither the Romulan Commander nor Sybok had shown any open hostility towards the Vulcans when they met with Kirk.  In fact, they had seemed reluctant to attack this ship while there were Vulcans aboard.  No, the intention was not to systematically murder the Vulcan refugees from inside the ship in which they were all held prisoner.  Sarek did not know the true motive for Sybok’s insistence that these two Romulan guards remain behind.  What he did know was that their supposed purpose aboard was to protect Spockh and to train him to fulfill his role as Sarek’s only surviving son.  Spockh would be trained in combat by Romulans.  Spockh would become a Warrior.  It did not settle well with Sarek.  He should be trained by Vulcans, but such a thing was impossible with the Warriors contained in the brig of the ship.  He did not like it, but he would have to accept the presence of these two Romulans regardless.  Perhaps they would enable Spockh to defend himself against his assaulter, a thing for which Sarek could only be grateful. 

He strained to hear any kinds of distressed sounds from the other side of the door to the captain’s quarters.  He knew that Kirk forced himself on his son while McCoy had conversed with the captain.  He had heard the sounds of the assault itself, including the pained cries of his son.  If Kirk dared to display such cruelty in Sarek’s presence, he did not know if he would be able to prevent himself from defending his son and instantly breaking the man’s neck by executing tal-shaya.  He knew he would ignore the tradition of the victim demanding tal-shaya if he were to witness the violation of his child, of Amanda’s child, despite promising McCoy he would not harm Kirk.  As he waited at these doors, he did not hear anything.  He felt the gaze of one of the Romulans and turned toward him to see sympathy in the alien’s eyes.  It was all Sarek needed in order to know that Kirk had made his son scream while he raped him. 

He drew in a long breath through his nose, trying to will away his building rage.  He had promised his husband he would not harm Kirk, but it may prove a promise Sarek would be unable to honor. 

McCoy turned to Sarek, his voice back to the gruffness to which he had become accustomed.  Sarek wondered if it was due to their present company of Kirk’s two sentries.  It seemed the likely possibility.  “I’ll get the captain to approve the transfers.  You check on the kid.”

Sarek did not look at McCoy, but continued to stare at the closed door.  He barely prevented himself from shaking in rage.  “If he has harmed my son—”

McCoy’s voice hardened.  “Then you focus on him.  Let me worry about Kirk.” 

Sarek glanced at his husband from the corner of his eye, instantly taking note of the man’s tense posture.  He did not wish to fight McCoy, or to incite him.  His conflict existed with Kirk, not his mate.  “As you wish.” 

McCoy signaled the door for entry.  In less time than Sarek expected, the door admitted them.  His husband went immediately to Captain Kirk, leaving Sarek just inside the entryway as the door’s closing separated them from the corridor beyond.  Sarek’s nostrils flared as the musky scent of intercourse assaulted his senses and reignited his anger.  But when he saw his clothed son seated on the unkempt bed, his head hanging in shame, and his eyes lowered to prevent him from facing his father, Sarek’s fury vanished to be replaced by nausea and sadness. 

Sarek stepped towards his son, not wanting to frighten him.  With each step, he noticed something more about Spockh’s condition that only increased his revulsion.  Finally, Sarek stood directly before Spockh and studied him.  His son would not have permitted his hair to be so disheveled, yet now it stuck up in various places.  Fresh discolorations littered Spockh’s neck, no doubt inflicted by Kirk while he raped him.  Sarek knelt in front of his son to better see the injuries on his face and neck.  It was only a minimal comfort to notice that the marks on Spockh’s neck were not from Kirk’s hands, indicating that the man did not strangle him.  The alternative implied that Kirk had inflicted those marks using his mouth or teeth like an animal.  Spockh’s lips were swollen from unwanted kisses, and his ears green from abuse.  It was the darker bruise across Spockh’s cheekbone that held Sarek’s attention.  Kirk had viciously struck Spockh, that much was obvious, but the reason for it was not as clear.  “My son,” Sarek whispered softly to get Spockh’s attention.  “Sa-fu.”

  Sarek reached out towards him, but stopped as Spockh tensed.  “I will never harm you, my son,” he reassured him.  Spockh swallowed and forced himself to relax.  Sarek lightly touched his first two fingers to his son’s forehead in an appropriate gesture of affection from parent to child.  Spockh closed his eyes, but the action resulted in an unintended tear sliding free over the dark bruise at his cheek.  Sarek traced it away gently.  “Spockh-kan, what else has he—”

“It is nothing, Father,” Spockh interrupted, shaking his head tiredly. 

“This is not nothing,” he insisted.  The way Kirk treated Spockh could not easily be dismissed or ignored, especially with evidence of it blatantly displayed on his son’s body.  “Let me—” 

Finally, his son moved.  Spockh raised his eyes slowly until they met Sarek’s gaze.  They were lifeless.  “You cannot protect me anymore,” Spockh murmured, “no matter how much you wish you could.  This is something that I must endure alone.  Your concern for me will not change anything.”  Spockh stood with a grimace and a soft, pained moan.  Sarek watched from where he had knelt, stung by his son’s words.  He looked up at Spockh helplessly, wanting desperately to do something for him.  Spockh looked back at him his face devoid of any emotion.  “Do not draw attention to this, or try to help me.  It only serves to remind me of my shame and of how insignificant I have become.  I am nothing of importance now, and therefore what I endure is also nothing of importance.”   Spockh swallowed again, turned, and then retreated into the fresher.

As he watched his son’s departure, Sarek felt several emotions so strongly that they nearly overwhelmed him.  Spockh’s words had pained him deeply.  Sarek would always be protective of Spockh, if only for the simple reason that he was his son.  When Spockh had informed him that he felt insignificant, worthless, and that his own existence shamed him, Sarek only felt sadness.  He was saddened that Spockh chose to accept the thought that he meant nothing anymore.  The young Vulcan that had fled into the fresher did not resemble the son Sarek had raised with Amanda. 

He turned his gaze to the individual responsible for this destruction of his child’s spirit, Spockh’s abuser and rapist, James T. Kirk.  The man held the padd and stylus McCoy had brought with them, but his attention was not on those items, or even on his Chief Medical Officer.  It remained on the door through which Spockh had just fled.  The captain glanced quickly at Sarek, then hurriedly signed his name to the datapad.  By the time McCoy reclaimed the transfer list, Kirk had already started walking towards the fresher, his hard gaze fixed on the opening door.  Kirk slipped through the door before it even finished opening, and Sarek could hear the voices of the captain and his son. 

“Captain—”

“Shut the hell up!”  Sarek heard movement, heard hands on fabric, and finally a body impacting a hard surface.  But he did not hear a sound of pain.  He stood and approached the door that lingered open.  He knew he would only have moments to take in the encounter before he would be unable to interfere. 

“Please,” Spockh hissed desperately.  “My father will hear whatever you—”

“Maybe I want him to hear this.”  Then, the door closed, and Sarek could neither hear nor see anything more.  But he would not soon forget the image of his son trapped between a counter and Kirk, the human’s arms on either side of Spockh’s body caging him there, and Kirk pressed against Spockh’s back, grinding into him as he whispered harshly into his ear. 

Sarek took one step towards the fresher, but a tight grip on his arm stopped him.  He spun to face his mate.  “Release me,” he demanded. 

McCoy’s expression hardened.  “No, Sarek.  Don’t.”  He nodded to the closed door.  “He won’t do anything to him now.  If he wanted to, he wouldn’t have allowed the kid to get dressed in the first place.”

Sarek glared at McCoy.  “You could not have failed to see how that man had my son.”  He knew this doctor to be an observant man.  But perhaps he only saw what he wished to see, and chose to ignore everything else. 

McCoy nodded.  “Yeah, I saw him pin your boy to the sink, just like you did.”  He came closer, but did not release Sarek’s arm.  “But I’m telling you that Kirk isn’t about to fuck him right after he’s just had him, especially knowing you heard it on our way here.”  He sighed, and the anger left his eyes.  “I know Jim, Sarek.  Better than almost anyone else.  He’s trying to bait you, to see where your limit is with this.” 

“It is quickly approaching,” Sarek snarled. 

Even as he went to dislodge the hand on his arm, McCoy tightened his grip.  “You’ll face much worse than this in the Empire, and that’s the truth.  This is nothing.  What Kirk’s doing to your son is nothing compared to what other captains would do, or what an admiral would do to him, or what the Empress would do.  And not just to him either.”  Sarek knew he allowed his skepticism to show by the frustrated sigh that escaped McCoy.  “If you want to check, then do that mind thing you people do and find out if I’m lying.  I’m not.  I’ve seen things that make this place look harmless.  I’ve seen people tortured.  Hell, I’ve even done it a few times, but—”

McCoy sighed again, but when he continued speaking, the aggression in his voice had vanished.  What remained was only compassion.  “We do things we don’t like, Sarek.  That’s the way things are.  So, if that means that you have to live with the fact that Jim’s going to fuck your son whenever he gets the urge, then that’s what you have to do.  That kid’s already living with it, and he’s doing it for your sake.  For your people’s sake.  What he needs is your support, not the rage of a pissed off father who regrets a deal he made that put Spockh in his position in the first place.  Your son needs you to keep him standing, not to keep pointing out that his captor abuses him and rapes him.  Spockh already knows that, but he’s dealing with it.  So do you, and so do I.” 

Before he could reply, the fresher door opened again and Kirk stormed out with Spockh following meekly behind him.  Kirk strode directly to his wardrobe and snatched the shimmering gold strip of fabric from its place on the top surface in front of the mirror.  He curled one hand around Spockh’s waist to guide him closer before he slid the material around his captive’s frame.  He knotted it carefully and tightly letting his hand linger there while he tilted Spockh’s face up so that their gazes met.  “Don’t ever say that again,” Kirk said quietly to Spockh.  “Understand me, little one?”

Spockh nodded once, sharply.  “Yes, Ja—Captain.”  Sarek realized with interest that his son had almost called his captor by his given name.  Spockh would not make such a foolish mistake.  He had always chosen his words purposefully.  To slip in his speech was highly unusual. 

Kirk touched the bruise on Spockh’s cheekbone gently, and then, to Sarek’s shock, proceeded to kiss the discoloration.  Sarek suspiciously wondered just how much of that action had been designed to trick his son into obedience or to instill a false sense of safety in him as Spockh’s father.  No matter what this offensive human did, Sarek vowed that he would never trust Kirk’s words or actions. 

“Come on,” Kirk said, sliding his hand to Spockh’s back to lead him to the doors of his quarters.  When they parted, the captain looked at the two Romulans standing guard as he made his orders clear.  “Be thorough, but don’t damage him.  Only I have that privilege.”  The two Romulan guards straightened and immediately freed their long weapons from their back scabbards and flanked Spockh with a uniform military precision that alarmed Sarek.  “Wolfe,” Kirk singled the human bodyguard out.  “Accompany our guests and my prize to combat training.  I want your report on each session afterwards.”

“Yes, Captain,” Wofle replied, drawing his phaser.  Sarek thought it looked particularly useless next to the large bladed weapons that the Romulans carried.  That they were permitted to keep their weapons surprised Sarek.  He looked at Kirk suspiciously.  Perhaps the human permitted the Romulan weapons because the Romulans were charged to protect Spockh.  Why would Kirk want Spockh unharmed?  He shook his head to himself as he recalled the only logical reason.  The arrangement brokered by McCoy. 

The group had disappeared from the doorway to Kirk’s quarters by the time the man spoke again.  “If that’s all, McCoy,” Kirk said, nodding to the still open door in a clear but unspoken dismissal. 

McCoy made no move to leave.  He moistened his chapped lips with his tongue before he replied to Kirk.  “It’s not, Jim.”  He lowered himself into one of the chairs at the round table at which they had eaten dinner recently.  McCoy set the datapad on the table and folded his hands together on its surface.  He leaned forward as he studied Kirk, preparing to gauge his response.  “Did you order a test done for the gas inhibitor in my Sickbay?”

Kirk stepped away from the doorway so that the sensor did not register his presence.  The doors hissed closed.  “No,” he answered. 

McCoy did not look away from Kirk.  “Somebody did.  And it flooded my medical bay while all the doors were sealed to keep everyone inside.”  Kirk approached the table where Sarek’s husband sat.  McCoy’s voice hardend as he stressed, “Everyone.” 

Sarek watched them through the room divider.  He did not wish to interfere in this discussion, but it certainly held his interest.  It seemed that his mate’s instinct that this young captain would not authorize such a test without first informing McCoy had been correct.  It seemed that many of his mate’s instincts and observations were correct about others. 

“There’s only one possibility,” Kirk ventured, but before he could finish, McCoy supplied that possibility. 

“Someone’s giving orders on this ship other than you.”  Kirk stiffened as the words were said aloud.  “You can’t let that stand, Jim.”

Of all reactions Sarek had expected from Kirk, laughter never seemed likely.  “You know,” Kirk said as he began to pace in front of the table.  “My Vulcan said something similar to me a little while ago.”  He ground his teeth.  “He asked me about Pike.  We’re due to recover his shuttle in a few hours.”  Sarek saw that this information had been unknown to McCoy by his mate’s engrossed expression and the way he further leaned forward.  “He asked what will happen after Pike comes back aboard.” 

McCoy thought for a moment before replying.  When he spoke, his eyes had grown dark with dreadful certainty.  “You mean he asked what will happen to you, and therefore what will happen to him.”

Kirk nodded as he planted himself to glare at his friend.  “He thinks Pike will retake command when he arrives.”  Sarek now understood that Pike had been the captain of this vessel before Kirk.  It made sense, given the captain’s youth.  Sarek doubted that captaincy was commonly held by someone of Kirk’s age.  

Sarek’s mate sighed deeply.  “The kid might be right.”

Kirk’s pacing resumed, reminding Sarek of a caged le-matya.  “And then he implied that I have to kill him.”

Sarek glanced at his mate.  McCoy looked haunted as he gazed at Kirk compassionately, sympathetically.  When his mate disclosed his past, how he had killed his own wife for murdering their daughter, Sarek had seen the same expression on the human that he displayed then.  It was for that reason that Sarek did not believe that McCoy would be successful in convincing this captain that Spockh’s suggestion was sensible.  With a soft sigh, Sarek came around the divider and answered for his mate.  “His reasoning is correct, Captain.  Your position will be threatened.”

Kirk whirled around to face him.  “Your son just told me to kill my own father!”  This information surprised Sarek, but he still believed Spockh’s proposed solution to be logical.  Kirk charged at him, fists clenched, but Sarek stood his ground.  Somehow he knew that this man would not hurt him as he repeatedly hurt his son.  “Do you think he’d do it if our positions were reversed and I ordered him to kill you?” he shouted. 

Sarek repressed his disgust, his hatred, and his murderous urges towards this man.  He would not be baited by him as his new mate had cautioned him.  He spoke in a calm but deadly tone.  “You are not my son, and he is not you.  He proposed to you the only logical solution that would ensure things remain as they currently exist.” 

Kirk leaned forward close to Sarek.  “I can’t,” he bit the words at him.  “I won’t do that.”

Sarek’s attention had been so consumed by the captain being so physically near to him that he failed to see McCoy stand from his chair and approach Kirk.  “You might not have a choice, Jim.” 

Kirk walked away from Sarek with a snarl to seize his dagger from the shelf between his bed and wardrobe.  With choppy, vicious movements he began to fasten it around his leg.  Sarek looked to McCoy and immediately identified the worry in the human’s expression.  He realized a moment later that McCoy’s worry was for Kirk.  He looked back at the captain and noticed what his mate saw, the rising panic that his son’s captor tried desperately to conceal.  

Sarek thought on Kirk’s taunt to him.  What if Kirk ordered Spockh to kill him?  He knew Spockh would refuse.  But what if he did not refuse?  What state would such a command induce in Spockh?  Sarek realized that if Kirk were to make the same demand of Spockh that Spockh had suggested to him, then the resulting anxiety would be the same.  Spockh would be as conflicted as the young human fastening a dagger to his leg to mask his emotional struggle. 

He looked to McCoy, only to find himself gazing into his new mate’s disturbed eyes. With a sigh, McCoy turned away to lean heavily into the mesh wall divider, the adrenaline vanishing, leaving behind only exhaustion.  Then, an alterantive struck Sarek unexpectedly.  He found himself speaking before he could truly decide on how to phrase his proposal.  “The gaseous inhibitor also incapacitated the Humans in Sickbay.”

He watched as Kirk raised his eyes to him, yet he had felt that his mate had faced him as well.  Sarek did not need to look at McCoy to know that his mate’s attention focused on him.  Kirk ran his eyes up and down his body, no doubt assessing whether or not he presented a threat or in an attempt to determine if he had lied to the Captain.  Kirk looked at McCoy.  “Yeah,” the doctor confirmed. 

Kirk took his word with a sharp nod.  “So it can be directed specifically to one room?”

“Someone did it to my Sickbay, so I don’t see why not.”

Kirk nodded again, and finished securing the dagger sheath to his leg.  Sarek noted that his movements were much calmer now.  Kirk had regained the control he feared to lose.  “Figure out a way to direct it only to the shuttle bay.  Have Giotto help you if you need it.” 

McCoy stepped towards Kirk.  “That won’t buy you much time.”

Kirk did not acknowledge McCoy’s caution.  “So, give him an I.V. later for as long as it takes.”

McCoy reached out to grab Kirk’s upper arm, to force him to listen.  “I can’t keep that up forever, Jim.  If you ordered it, I could take responsibility for—”

In one movement, the captain easily dislodged the doctor’s grip and tightened his free hand in McCoy’s shirt to effectively slam him against the wardrobe.  “I won’t fucking do it, Bones!” he roared.  “I can’t!  You, of all people, should understand why!” 

Sarek, though alarmed, watched from where he stood as the concern for his friend disappeared in McCoy’s gaze to leave only the subordinate and the crewmember behind.  “How long do you want me to keep this up, sir?” his mate asked. 

“I don’t know,” Kirk whispered, uncertain again.  “Until I figure something else out.”  He released McCoy and turned away from him to take the communicator from the shelf and secure it to his side, keeping his face away from Sarek and the doctor. 

Sarek studied Kirk in that time.  He had not expected this man to be as vulnerable as he was, and yet so determined to conceal that.  Sarek had only seen the mask Kirk wore until this meeting.  Now that he had seen the man’s lack of control, lack of stability, Sarek became increaingly concerned for his son.  If Kirk attacked McCoy, his oldest and most trusted friend, in the way that he did, what had Spockh suffered from this man with no others in their company?  There was nothing that would stop Kirk from inflicting numerous injuries on Spockh when there was no care for Spockh’s well-being.  Sarek’s gaze wandered to the rumpled bed, where he knew that his son had been raped within the past hour.  Sarek could feel no sympathy for the unstable captain who abused his son, and he would not help him.  He did care for his mate.  He would help McCoy.  With some persuasion, Sarek may be able to convince his new mate to provide medical assistance for Spockh.  McCoy had done it for Spockh before.  Perhaps he would again. 

“You have to be ready to flood the shuttle bay in less than two hours,” Kirk informed McCoy, completely ignoring Sarek’s presence.  He did not mind being unacknowledged.  “I’ll tell Giotto to expect you.”  Kirk went directly up to McCoy and lowered his voice, intending only the doctor’s ears, but Sarek had no difficulty in hearing them.  “Don’t you dare fail me, Bones.”

McCoy nodded slowly.  “Aye, Captain, sir.” 

Kirk strode toward the door of his quarters, but turned just before the sensors would register his approach to open.  He looked at McCoy, and then to Sarek.  “Keep this quiet.”  Then, he turned and left the room. 

Sarek turned to face the unkempt bed where Spockh had been violated.  Without intending to approach, he found himself standing beside it, searching for any indication of his son’s suffering, searching for blood on the sheets.  He could not find any, at least in plain sight.  The bedding reeked of sweat and bodily fluids and the scent nauseated him.  He nearly jumped when he felt his mate’s touch at his elbow.  “Sarek,” he probed softly.  “Are you alright?”

Sarek looked at the captain’s bed, wanting and yet not wanting to find evidence of the man’s abuse towards his son.  “I do not know.” 

“He isn’t treating him as badly as I’d thought, you know.”

He closed his eyes in frustration.  McCoy was attempting to comfort him, but his words had no such effect.  “And that warrants my forgiveness, I suppose?”

McCoy shifted his weight.  “I didn’t say that.  I’m trying to tell you that it’s in your best interest to do what you can to make sure Jim stays in command.”  He kept speaking, even over Sarek’s disbelieving sigh.  “You, your boy, and all you Vulcans are safer that way.”

Sarek shook his head, his gaze riveted to the rumpled sheets, made so by a forceful mating.  “My son is not.”

McCoy surprised Sarek by curling his fingers around Sarek’s wrist.  Sarek tore his eyes from the bed and fixed on his mate.  “Yes, he is,” McCoy said sincerely.  Sarek realized that McCoy had touched him for the sole purpose of allowing him to read the human’s emotions and thoughts.  McCoy truly believed that Spockh was safe with Kirk.  This man claimed to know Kirk’s mind and personality better than anyone aboard the ship.  If McCoy believed Spockh to be safe, then Sarek concluded that he had to trust him in that opinion.  But it would not ease the intensity of Sarek’s disgust and hatred for Kirk for what he had done to his son.  Kirk had defiled him, hurt him, and broke him.  When he had looked at him earlier, Spockh had been a shadow of what he had been before Vulcan’s destruction.  Perhaps it would have been a kinder fate if Spockh had perished with his mother and their planet. 

The thought stole his breath from him.  How could he think that of his child?  He looked at his mate, seeing only compassion in his eyes.  It did not comfort him.  Sarek hung his head in shame.  How could he think that of Spockh?  He barely noticed that McCoy had led them from Kirk’s quarters.  Sarek’s mind repeatedly berated him with one thought as they left.  Amanda would be ashamed of him.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

His patience had nearly reached its end.  He’d given the Terran vessel more than enough time to assemble the agreed-upon number of transfers, and they had not yet signaled their readiness to transport. 

His commander had sent him to wait in their transporter bay.  As Sybok had left the command center of their ship, he’d overheard the orders to standby on weapons in the event that the I.S.S. Enterprise failed to fulfill their own terms.  Sybok had remained in the transporter bay ever since, initially at rigid attention as he awaited the communication signal from the Terrans.  His rigidity had eased when several hours passed with no communication, and he had begun a loose spar with the crew member that had accompanied him to the bay.  That did not lessen his annoyance wth the Terran’s lack of efficiency. 

He had halted their sparring and retreated to lower his body to his knees in order to meditate.  He may have fully departed the Vulcan planet fifteen standard years previous, but there were some habits and conditioning that even Sybok could not ignore or abandon.  His level of telepathy proved to be unusually strong, even for a Vulcan, and that required meditation to keep his skills resilient and disciplined.  He did not attempt to control them in a way that equated to repression like the Vulcans.  He chose to build his mind into a fortress, structured to perfection, and disciplined in a way that permitted him to call upon any level of his strength whenever he chose.  For a Vulcan, emotions were considered a hindrance.  For Sybok, his emotions were what enabled him to build a respectable life and a successful career in his new home among the Romulans. 

It had taken time, but he had been persuasive in his petitioning the Romulan Senate to grant him planetary citizenship by repeatedly deomonstrating his diligence in assimilating into their culture.  Once acceptance had been granted, he had used his deeply rooted Vulcan Warrior ferocity in competing with enthusiastic Romulans who’d chosen to enlist in the planetary forces.  Sybok had considered chosing the soldier and warrior division, but had instead decided that his talents and foreign origins would better serve the Tal Shiar, the intelligence agency.  His intellect and his mental powers had allowed him to climb the ranks quickly.  It was this rapid advancement that caught the interest of the Senate.  He’d been summoned before them one afternoon, and by the time he’d been dismissed, he had been awarded the rank of Subcommander and assigned to a Romulan Warbird as military intelligence advisor and daise’deleth to his new commander. 

Sybok did not know that his new commander had personally requested him for her senior-defender.  But in a very short time, she had admitted to Sybok having captured her interest.  It took a year before Sybok learned that he’d also captured her affections. 

“Rekkhai,” the Romulan at the transporter station called Sybok, jarring him from his thoughts. 

“Report,” Sybok ordered, curtly. 

“The time allotted for prisoner transfer from the Terrans is nearly expired.”

Sybok came forward and efficiently opened a communication channel.  “This is Subcommander Sybok of the Nei’rrh-Hatham.  On behalf of my commander, I demand you fulfill our terms or agree to be boarded.”

As he’d expected, the answer came immediately.  The Terrans’ punctuality when threatened made him smile.  “This is Kirk.  I’ve just approved the transfer list an hour ago, and—”

“Did they protest or go missing, Captain?” Sybok asked sarcastically.  “Ten hours was not enough?  Or do all Terrans do things so slowly?”

He heard the practiced arrrogance in Kirk’s voice.  “When you have prisoners confined all throughout such a large ship, tracking down sixty specific pointy-eared captives takes almost a full hour, even with extra manpower devoted to the task.”

Sybok did not take his bait.  “Then it is a good thing we did not agree to more than sixty transfers, since that number seems such a difficult challenge for your crew.”

Kirk chuckled to himself.  “We’re ready to transport, Subcommander.  I’m sure you’ll approve of your new stock.”

“No doubt, Captain.”

“Prepare to receive your prisoners.”  Sybok did not bother to correct Kirk’s assumption that these sixty Vulcans would be treated as prisoners aboard the Nei’rrh Hatham.  It was not worth the effort to do so. 

When he saw the first group of six transferred from the Terran ship, Sybok noticed that Kirk had done precisely as he’d suspected.  He’d given the Romulans the surplus, the expendable, and those the human considered useless or invaluable.  Kirk gave them the infirm and the ill, likely to prevent the use of his own ship’s medical supplies on his Vulcan prisoners.  With each additional group transferred, Sybok began to understand Kirk’s strategy.  Mothers carrying very young infants were practically useless to Kirk.  They could not be easily confined or given many tasks if they were devoted to caring for their dependent children.  The infants themselves were not even worth feeding since they served no purpose to Kirk.  There were some Young that arrived, though none older than approximately fourteen.  They were old enough to understand what had happened to them and young enough to possibly instill rebellion.  They would be a potential threat, and thus transferred to the Romulans.  Two healers had arrived as well.  Their presence here decreased the available medical expertise for the Vulcans Kirk retained as his captives. 

It was the transfer of six members – half – of the High Council of Elders that most perplexed Sybok.  Why would Kirk release half of the Council to them? 

He did not have time to think further on Kirk’s motives after his transporter operator acknowledged and confirmed successful transfer of the sixty Vulcans and immediately terminated communications.  Sybok observed his new charges.  They did not hold his brother’s defiance or resolve.  Most of them looked frightened, anxious, or despairingly resigned.  He needed to focus on them, not attempt to determine Kirk’s motivation for the particular transfers his ship had received.  There would be time for that later. 

“Commander,” he signaled. 

She answered quickly.  “Have we received the Vulcans?”

“Yes, Commander,” he confirmed.  “All sixty have arrived successfully.”

“Good.  Direct our guests to their accomdations, but you, Subcommander, will question one member of each caste.”  She did not give him the opportunity to reply.  “Report the findings of these sessions to me once they are concluded.  You have until we reach Romulus to learn all that you can, and to assist our passengers in familiarizing themselves with our culture and how to satisfy their basic, essential needs.”

“Understood, Commander.”

He terminated their connection and faced the people of his former homeworld.  They looked inquisitively, though some in open confusion, at him.  Then, he understood.  He doubted many, if any, of their guests spoke Romulan.  He now understood why his Commander had given him the exclusive duty of overseeing the settlement of the Vulcan transfers.  Sybok was the only one aboard who could speak Vulcan, now that he’d left Kaifa and S’ten behind to guard Spockh on the Terran ship.  Sybok nodded to himself in acceptance of this responsibility. 

“You must begin this settlement process by informing me of the conditions on board the I.S.S. Enterprise, and of the treatment you had received there,” he instructed them in Vulcan.  His skill had deteriorated slightly from disuse of the language, but he could still communicate very effectively.  That he spoke Vulcan surprised almost all of them.  He decided that it was time for truth if they were to establish a decent rapport.  “My name is Sybok, vrekasht.  Previously, I had been Sybok, son of Sarek.”  He saw recognition in the gazes of most of the adults, especially the Elders.  “I know what it is like to lose everything in life.”  Sybok grinned to himself.  Strange that he had been meditating on his life path up to this point just before receiving these Vulcans on his Commander’s ship.  It was fitting, he supposed.  “But I have survived, thrived even, and in time reclaimed my life and defined a new purpose for it.”  He looked at the frightened yet curiously trusting eyes of the Young.  “You will do the same, eventually.”  He smiled encouragingly at the eldest of the Young, those who looked to be fourteen standard years of age, the very same age he had been when his father struck his name from the Clan, exiled him, and declared him vrekasht.  “Unlike the Terrans, we seek to help you, not to imprison you.” 

“How will you help us?” asked a Young boy, whose green eyes and dark hair reminded Sybok of himself when he struggled on his own. 

“You will go to Romulus, where I, and my commander, will assist you in petitioning our Praetor for aid in recovering the rest of your people from the Terrans.” 

The boy smiled at Sybok, clearly pleased by that answer.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~

 

He opened his eyes to darkness and had no idea where he could possibly be lying.  He made no sound, but he tried to remember the last thing that happened before he lost consciousness.  From sensation alone, he could tell that he had been secured to a rather uncomfortable chair, his feet bound to the legs, and his arms cuffed behind him and secured somehow to the chair as well.  By the chill in the air he realized that he didn’t have some of his clothes on anymore, but at least he wasn’t naked.  That, more than anything else, was a small comfort. 

In that pitch blackness he heard a low chuckle.  He had no idea where exactly the person stood, but he figured they would be somewhere in front of him.  He didn’t have long to wait.  “Lights, full power,” the disembodied voice ordered.  Immediately, the lights blared and Montgomery Scott found himself shying away from the painful brightness.

Something sharp and cold touched his chin.  He knew it right away, and knew he shouldn’t go against it.  He knew he’d be slitting his own throat by resisting.  So he allowed the tip of that dagger to angle his head upward toward the face of the man he now remembered had knocked him out in the first place.  Hikaru Sulu. 

“You know I could easily leave any mark I want with this, right?”

He just stared at Sulu, trying to muster as much disdain as he could in his still stinging eyes.  Sulu smiled at him, seeming a little too pleased with the idea of imminent torture.  Scott had to control himself to avoid rolling his eyes or otherwise provoking Sulu.  Even though the other man didn’t much intimidate him, it couldn’t be denied that Scott wasn’t the one holding the power or the weapon in the room.  It wasn’t Sulu tied to a chair.  “Lieutenant Commander Scott, SE-197-54T,” he supplied. 

“Last I heard you were sent to the Tantalus Penal Institution,” Sulu said casually, “for life.”  He played with the tip of his dagger.  “Yet here you are, somehow aboard the flagship of the fleet.  How did you manage to get aboard?”

“Lieutenant Commander Scott, SE-197-54T,” he repeated. 

Sulu blinked and his lips thinned in mild irritation.  “How did you get to a transporter on Tantalus?” he asked.  “How did you get past the security shield around the penal planet?”

All good questions, and all of which Scott would refuse to answer except with what he’d already given Sulu.  “Lieutenant Commander Scott, SE-197-54T.” 

Sulu nodded.  “I can see you’re going to be difficult.”  He lashed out so fast that Scott barely saw him move.  But he did feel his blood begin to slide down the left side of his chest from where Sulu had sliced his skin just below his collarbone expertly and no deeper than it needed to be in order to sting sharply.  “Who came on board with you?”  The same response as the others earned Scott another slice from Sulu’s blade.  “We know you brought two others with you.  Where are they?” 

“Lieutenant Commander Scott, SE-197-54T.”  Another small, burning cut.

“They must be important for you to be so secretive,” Sulu reasoned aloud.  “Why are you protecting them?”

“Lieutenant Commander Scott, SE-197-54T.”  Sulu’s dagger flashed, and Scott’s blood escaped from the resultant wound.

“Are the others in that compartment you locked before we found you?”

Name, number, and another slice for his stubborn response. 

“How did you manage to lock that compartment with Kirk’s access code?  Did he give it to you?”

Scott began to grow bored of this repetitive game that Sulu played with him.  He knew Sulu’s sadistic enjoyment in this wouldn’t stop until either he broke or until he died from blood loss and exhaustion.  Sulu only preyed on those that couldn’t fight back.  If he were up against someone with their full strength and abilities, Sulu would never come out victorious.  It was why he preferred to tease his targets like an animal who tortures its prey before finally deciding it would rather eat it than play with it.  He couldn’t overpower Sulu in this particular setting, but he might be able to aggravate him enough to call the captain in to finish the job.  Once Kirk saw him sitting here, tied down and bleeding, Scott doubted he would be forced to put up with more of Sulu’s dagger.  In order to get Sulu to call Kirk here, Scott knew he had to demonstrate that the other man’s efforts were never going to get the results he wanted.  And for that, Scott needed to bait Sulu.  “You ever experience a neural neutralizer?”  Sulu froze, clearly caught off guard that something other than Scott’s name and rank had been said in response to his questioning.  Scott smiled to himself.  This was a promising start.  “Well, I have and your little nicks are as noticeable as a personal heater on Delta Vega.”  He managed to shrug even in his restraints.  “And by that I mean you don’t notice it at all.”

Sulu straightened rigidly, his dagger clenched in his hand.  It was working.  Scott anticipated the man’s next move would be either rage or insulted defeat that would force him to call Kirk here.  What Scott didn’t expect at all was the deadly calm that Sulu displayed a moment later as he casually wiped his dagger on Scott’s clothing until the blade was free of blood and shimmering again.  “You know,” he practically purred at him, which unsettled Scott.  “We have something of a neural neutralizer on this ship, too.”  He went to the door, banged on it hard with periodic and deliberate pauses.  “You may have been able to resist the one on Tantalus,” Sulu continued, “but I think you’ll break this time.”  He smiled gleefully.  “At least you will sooner or later.” 

The door opened, and immediately a dull pain went through Scott’s head. 

Through that increasing pain he saw Gary Mitchell enter the room.  A sharp burst of pain went through Scott’s mind, causing him to groan for the first time since he woke up there.  Gary leaned nonchalantly against the wall, and his arrogant smirk spread as the pain in Scott’s head doubled.  “Now,” roared Sulu, intentionally using a louder, harsher voice to further cause Scott pain.  He tried to glare at him, but the pain kept increasing until it was the only thing on which he could focus.  “Let’s try again.  How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?”

Scott turned his gaze to Mitchell, who simply tilted his head to one side in amusement.  The agony spiked, stabbing him through his skull and into his mind, robbing him of his obstinance and his strength.  Montgomery Scott could do nothing against it except scream. 


End file.
